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A 


CHOICE IN THE GATHERING 


OR 


SOWING AND WAITING 


BY 

S. M. BURNHAM 

'1 

AUTHOR OF “biographical SKETCHES,” “LIMESTONES AND MARBLES,” 
“ A ROMAN STORY,” ETC. 


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BOSTON 

A. I. BRADLEY & COMPANY 


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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two RECC4VE0 

SEP. 13 1901 


^COPVmOfT ENTRY 

^3, *^c>f 

CLASS CI^XXc. Nw. 

COPY 8, 


Copyrighted by 
A. 1. BRADLEY & CO. 
1901. 


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TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 
IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 
XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXL 

XXII. 

XXIII. 


Glen Cottage . 

A Snow-Storm 
A Good Samaritan 
Buried Hopes . 

A Young Questioner 
A Country School 
Boarding Round 
Old-Fashioned Hospitality 
Prejudices Yielding 
The McClures 
Phantoms 
A New Pupil . 

The ,Spelling-School 
Changing Owners 
Fanny Sherwood 
A New Movement 
Spring 

The Young Folks 
The Two Friends 
Farm Life 

MiLLIE 

Foreshadowings 
Sang Songs 

(iii) 




iv TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

Chapter 

XXIV. A Tale Often Told ...... 242 

XXV. Political Economy . . , . . .251 

XXVI. Gossip . 259 

XXVII. A Declaration 265 

XXVIII. Life at the Co'itage . . . .271 

XXIX. Adieu to Alma Mater . . . . . 284 

XXX. Resolutions . . 292 

XXXI. Parental Duties 298 

XXXII. The Bridal 31 1 

XXXIII. Land of Beulah 328 

XXXIV. The Translation 333 

XXXV. Changes 342 

XXXVI. A New Exper'ience 3^1 


INTRODUCTION. 


PLAN AND OBJECT OF THE STORY. 

The following story is intended to illustrate the 
duty of parents in training their children and exercis- 
ing a happy and judicious influence at home. 

Paulina Howard, whose husband dies in the begin- 
ning of the narrative, is left with three young children 
to educate which she considers her work in life, and 
she conscientiously prepares herself for - her duties. 
She attends personally to their education, with a few 
other pupils. Her healthful influence is also seen in 
the development of the mind and character of her 
young sister, a happy, thoughtless girl just from 
school, who comes to spend a few months at Glen 
Cottage, the home of Mrs. Howard. During this visit 
the sister, whose name is Fanny Sherwood, becomes 
acquainted with Clive Layton, a college student, who 
teaches the winter school in the town of Jefferson, 
when they become acquainted and their friendship 
eventually ends in marriage. 

Alice Bradford, the orphan niece of Doctor Clive 
and distant relative of Layton, was his early play 
mate, and a strong friendship existed between them. 

With Alice, this friendship ended in an ardent 

(V) 


VI 


INTRODUCTION, 


affection, and when her friend became engaged to 
Fanny Sherwood she became conscious of the nature 
of her attachment to Clive. Her struggles to over- 
come it revealed traits in her character hitherto con- 
cealed. She finally triumphed, and her experience 
prepared her for usefulness during her short career 
and a peaceful, happy death. Her influence over Paul 
Crawford leads him to renounce a worldly, aimless 
life, and after the death of Alice he devoted his life 
to the work of rescuing the outcasts and relieving 
the poor, so that Alice, after sowing,'* waits in 
Heaven for the harvest. 

Doctor Clive fills an important place, while the 
Waltons are representatives of many thrifty New 
England families whose well governed households 
were known in country towns half a century ago. 
The Pages and the McClures have also their repre- 
sentatives. The other characters are introduced to 
make the narrative complete, though they have their 
representatives in real life. 

‘‘ Marvellous " Chapin affords a relief to the feelings 
after the tragical death of Howard, while the episode 
of “ Millie ’* illustrates the charity and sympathy of 
Alice. 

Most of the scenes, and many of the characters, 
are taken from real life and known many years ago. 


THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS. 


Harvey Howard. 

Paulina Howard, his wife. 




their 


Anna Howard, 

Lillie Howard, }■ 

Willie Howard, ) 

Daniel Walton. 

Jane Walton, ^^Aunt Jenny.” 

John Walton, > , 

^ ( their 


sons. 


Henry Walton, , 
Arthur Walton, ) 
Clive Layton. 

Fanny Sherwood. 
Doctor Clive. 

Mr Merill. 

Ambrose Merill. 

Marvellous ” Chapin. 
Prudy Chapin. 

Rev. Mr. Goodell. 


Mrs. Goodell. 
Deacon Hayford. 
Millie Hayford 
T im Cutlers. 

The McClures. 
Alice Bradford. 
The Allens. 

The Pages. 

Thomas Sherwood. 
The Whitemans. 

Rock ” White. 
Dan Woodard. 
Anise Woodard. 
Hiram Parker. 

Joe Rock way. 

The Marquis.” 
Uncle Jim. 

Curly Jack. 


A few Othersl 


(vii) 



A CHOICE IN THE GATHERING. 


CHAPTER I. 

GLEN COTTAGE. 

’T were well, thought I, if often 
To rugged farm life came the gift 
To harmonize and soften; 

If more and more we found the troth 
Of fact and fa^tcy plighted, 

And culture’s charm and labor’s strength 
In rural homes united.” 


Within a semicircular enclosure of hills, with high 
mountains in the rear, lay the well-tilled farm of 
Harvey Howard, with its sunny cottage, barn, shed, 
and other buildings securely sheltered by mountain 
ridges on the west and north and a forest of pines on 
the east, leaving the south open to the genial rays of 
the sun. Several years before our story begins, the 
young farmer had brought his family, consisting of a 
wife and infant daughter, from a large and cherished 
circle of friends in a neighboring State, to this wild 
mountain region. Only a few trees had been cut 
away, making a small clearing around his log cabin, 


2 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


when he introduced his young wife to her future 
home. 

Sorrowful indeed were the farewells of her friends, 
to the affectionate heart of Paulina Howard, but the 
solitude of her wilderness home almost crushed her 
spirits. Yet, with all her gentleness and affection, 
she possessed firmness and courage ; therefore, after 
severe struggles with her own heart, she consider- 
ately assumed a cheerfulness that eventually resulted 
in genuine contentment. 

By his energy, perseverance, and industry, Harvey 
Howard soon wrought a wonderful chaiige in his wild 
retreat. Trees were cut away, the land brought 
under cultivation, a new barn was built and various 
other improvements were made the first year, and in 
the course of two years more a neat cottage had 
taken the place of the log cabin. Every undertaking 
had been prosperous, so at the end of . five years the 
Howard farm was in fine condition. By industry and 
frugality the young couple had managed to save 
something every year towards paying for their farm, 
and in a few more years they hoped to be free from 
all encumbrances. Mrs. Howard had employed all 
her leisure moments in embellishing their dwelling 
which she named Glen Cottage, by planting shrubbery 
and flowers about it, so that it was indeed like a gar- 
den in the wilderness. Two other children were 
added to the family circle, a son and a daughter. 

On the day in which this narrative begins, light, 


GLEN COTTAGE. 


3 


fleecy clouds had been flitting about until late in the 
afternoon, when they concentrated their forces in the 
northwest, where they lay along the horizon, without 
coming quite to its verge, a heavy mass like the slum- 
bering forces of a vast army waiting for a furious 
onset. 

The weather for several days previous had been 
intensely cold, but within twenty-four hours it gradu 
ally became milder, with a chill that portends a snow- 
storm. The sun, which had risen in unclouded 
splendor, foreshadowing pleasant weather, soon con- 
cealed its glory behind a hazy curtain, and was seen 
no more that day, save for a few moments, when it 
seemed to fall behind the dense cloud in the west, 
and sink below out of sight, reflecting its golden rays 
on the floating vapor lying above, which grew fainter 
every moment, until no traces of the magic scene 
were visible. The thick cloud became more threaten- 
ing and descended quite to the horizon, completely 
hiding the sky from sight. The darkness increased, 
while the forms of the hills and mountains could not 
be traced, and the whole scene appeared enveloped in 
a mournful pall. 

think we shall have a severe snow-storm/^ said 
Mr. Howard to his wife, as he placed a thick log of 
maple on a blazing fire in the kitchen. 

‘‘I should think so from the appearance of the 
heavens at sunset,'* replied Mrs. Howard. ‘'The 
heavy cloud in the west looked much like it. I 


4 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


noticed it hung on the top of Mt. Bald Eagle like a har- 
binger of evil. I could not help feeling melancholy as 
the sun disappeared, reflecting, for a moment, his glory, 
and then withdrawing it. So it is with many of our 
fond hopes ; they dazzle for a time, and then sink for- 
ever, leaving our hearts enveloped in the cloud of 
disappointment.’* 

“ I suppose you mean in plain English,” said her 
husband gaily, “ that we shall have a pretty severe 
snow-storm. Your lively fancy seems unfavorable to 
your spirits. Is there anything in a storm to excite 
our fears ? We surely have had pretty good oppor- 
tunities of making their acquaintance since we came 
to this region.” 

O you literal, prosy fellow,” rejoined his wife, 
attempting to be gay ; “ you can see nothing in the 
phenomena of nature but what has a relation to profit 
and loss. The seasons with their varied beauties, 
showers, clouds, and sunshine, and other natural 
changes, are only regarded in the light of blessings 
or calamities as affecting the harvest.” 

^‘What a wise Providence that we have been 
brought together, my dear. You, without me, would 
have clothed yourself with clouds and moonshine, 
and have lived upon dew-drops, while I, without your 
imagination, should have found my home cheerless 
enough. But I must go to the village to-morrow, 
snow or no snow, for I have business to transact 
which admits of no delay.” 


GLEN COTTAGE. 


s 

“ What may your business be, which admits of no 
“ ifs and ands ' ? ” inquired his wife. 

“My dear little Eve, wives should not pry into 
their husbands’ business affairs,” said Harvey, 
gently touching her lips. 

“You will not think of going if it should storm 
severely, would you, husband } ” inquired his wife, 
with an effort to be cheerful, though feeling unusually 
dejected. That she should feel depressed at an event 
which not unfrequently happened surprised Paulina 
Howard herself, and she determined to subdue her 
fears, which she considered childish and needless, by 
changing the conversation. “ Harvey,” said she, “ tea 
has been ready this half hour, and with your permis- 
sion we will have our supper.” 

Mr. Howard, his wife, Anna, the eldest child of 
seven or eight years, Lillie, a mischievous little sprite 
of three summers, and Willie, the pet of the family, a 
young monarch of six months, who nevertheless ruled 
the household with absolute sway, constituted the 
family of Glen Cottage. The father, mother, and 
Anna, were seated at the table, while Lillie, not hav- 
ing reached the proper age for such honor, was placed 
in her little arm-chair before the fire, with her basin 
of bread and milk, a kind of food her mother regarded 
as best adapted to very young children. 

“ O mother,” said Anna, “ see what Lillie is doing 
to baby.’’ The mother looked towards the cradle 
beside which Lillie was kneeling with her basin, for 


6 


so IV/ JVC AND JVA/T/NG. 


the purpose of feeding her brother, but the contents 
of her spoon, which disappeared with surprising rapid- 
ity, instead of going into the little fellow’s mouth 
were poured into his bosom, a feat with which he 
seemed highly delighted, judging from his crowing 
and the violent gesticulation of his arms. 

‘‘Why, Lillie, what are you doing remonstrated 
her mother. “You are a naughty girl to soil your 
little brother’s night-dress. Just see how you have 
spilled the milk on his clean white blanket.” 

“ Me want to dive ’ittle Willie his dinner,” lisped 
the young offender. 

“ But you are not old enough to give baby his 
dinner. My little daughter must never do so again.” 

Whatever the child saw others do, she endeavored 
to imitate, and this propensity to copy her elders was 
the cause of a large share of the mischief she com- 
mitted. Sometimes this inclination led her and others 
into difficulty and danger. She often selected her 
little brother as the subject of her experiments, be- 
cause his ignorance and helplessness opposed no 
obstacles, and sometimes she herself became the 
victim of her own audacity. 

One day she had been watching her father go 
through the operation of shaving, and when he had 
finished the task, he incautiously left his shaving 
implements on the top of a chest of drawers under 
the looking glass. As soon as he left the room, Lillie 
seized the opportunity to perform the same ceremony 


GLEN COTTAGE, 


7 


on her own dimpled cheeks. She quickly mounted a 
chair, seized the brush, drew a few strokes across her 
chin, and then took the razor from its case and began 
operating, but in doing this she cut her skin. The 
wound was fortunately only slight, but it bled pro- 
fusely, which so alarmed the child that her screams 
brought her mother to the scene of the uproar. 

Harvey Howard spent his long winter evenings at 
home, which he devoted to mental culture. His 
early advantages had been limited, but possessing a 
vigorous mind he resolved to make amends for his 
disadvantages, and in these laudable efforts he found 
both assistance and sympathy in the companion of 
his choice. The latter had received what was con- 
sidered a good education and, besides, she was 
endowed with natural talents something above the 
average of ordinary persons. To a refined taste, was 
added a quick perception of the beauties of nature, 
and a love of poetry, and as a balance to these quali- 
ties she possessed sound judgment and a nice sense 
of propriety. Many of her friends disapproved her 
course when she married Howard, believing she had 
buried the talents which might have made her a bril- 
liant member of society, but his manly virtues won 
her esteem and then her love. 

Her husband's pursuits were congenial to her tastes 
in some respects, inasmuch as it brought her in con- 
tact with nature so constantly and familiarly. Even 
the more laborious and less interesting duties of a 


8 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


farm-house had charms for her that few others would 
have felt. To make a happy home and exert a 
healthful social and moral influence in it was her 
highest earthly ambition, and indeed she reigned as 
a benignant queen over her household. Husband 
and children tacitly acknowledged her supremacy, 
though she was hardly conscious of it, and never 
asserted her right to this honor, in the case of her 
companion. 

Previous to her marriage, Mrs. Howard had been 
engaged in teaching, and the experience acquired in 
that capacity deeply impressed her mind with the 
sense of parental responsibility, and she resolved, 
after becoming a mother, to spare no pains in edu- 
cating her own children ; therefore, in their earlier 
years, she assumed the entire charge of their instruc- 
tion. Their moral and religious training received 
her first care, for however highly she valued mental 
culture, she considered it of the greatest importance 
to improve the susceptible period of childhood in 
giving a permanent bias to the character. 

Anna, the eldest child, had been taught the rudi- 
ments of knowledge both from books and oral instruc- 
tion ; besides, she could assist her mother in the 
lighter household duties and the care of the younger 
members of the family. Mrs. Howard found her 
children quite unlike in their dispositions, which led 
her to vary her methods of instruction and discipline. 
The eldest daughter was thoughtful beyond her years, 


GLEN COTTAGE. 


9 


sensitive, and disposed to petulance ; the youngest 
was impulsive and affectionate, but independent and 
wilful, inquisitive, and prone to find out the reason of 
things. Whenever she acquired a new idea she could 
not rest satisfied until it was imparted to some one 
else, usually her little brother, and even her kitten 
was made the confidant of her discoveries. 

The watchful mother was aware of the difficult 
task of controlling and properly directing the mind 
of such a child, and sometimes her efforts seemed 
fruitless, but after years of persevering and faithful 
training she was rewarded for her efforts, and lived to 
see the harvest. 

The supper table had been cleared away, the tea 
dishes washed and put in their places in the neatly 
arranged cupboard, the little work table with its 
fringed white dimity covering was removed from the 
corner which it occupied during the day to its place 
before the cheerful fire, and the large family Bible, a 
mother’s parting gift, was placed on it. Two brass 
candlesticks holding lighted candles, a pair of japanned 
snuffers on a tray of the same material, embellished 
with gilt flowers, completed the decorations of the 
little stand. On one side was placed an arm-chair 
with a pair of men’s slippers beside it ; on the other 
stood an old-fashioned rocking-chair, stuffed and 
covered with patchwork of red and black cloth, the 
squares of which were ornamented with representa- 
tions of flowers and baskets of fruit, all the work of a 


lO 


SOmNG AND WAITING. 


grandmother’s loving hands. The arm-chair was 
occupied by the master of the household, while his 
companion sat in the other, during their quiet winter 
evenings. Lillie sat by her father, rocking her gray 
kitten, which was taking great liberties with the curls 
of its young mistress. Anna sat near the baby’s 
cradle, to which she now and then gave a maternal 
jog with her foot. 

As it was a custom in this family to have the 
evening devotions before the younger members retired 
to rest, Mr. Howard opened the Bible, and in an 
impressive manner read the 46th Psalm, beginning 
“ God is our refuge and strength ; a very present 
help in trouble,” etc., after which he offered a brief 
but fervent petition to the Divine Being. After these 
family devotions Mrs. Howard prepared Lillie for 
bed, and taught her to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, 
when the child used great freedom with the sacred 
text, persisting in repeating cake for bread. Finally, 
after many digressions, the prayer was ended, much 
to the satisfaction of the impatient learner, though 
her serious minded sister was greatly shocked at the 
little prattler’s irreverence, while her mother could 
not repress a smile at the whimsical freaks of the 
child. After the little ones had retired for the night, 
the industrious mother was busy with the contents 
of her work-basket for the remainder of the evening. 

‘‘ Harvey,” said Mrs. Howard, the psalm you read 
this evening is peculiarly consoling to the afflicted 


GLEN COTTAGE. 


II 


and tempted believer. I have often read and admired 
it, but never have I been so impressed with its sub- 
lime thought as now.^’ 

‘‘ It impressed my mind very forcibly,'* replied her 
husband. ‘‘ Do you think, my dear, that we could 
trust as firmly and confidingly in Jehovah as the 
Psalmist did, when temptations and afflictions assail 
us.?" 

“ I don't know," replied his wife; we can place but 
little confidence in ourselves, and can meet fiery trials 
only through Divine assistance. I shudder when I 
think that we have had so few sorrows, lest our 
Heavenly Father may see that we need some new 
affliction to prepare us for our work here, and for 
higher enjoyment beyond this life ; yet the trial may 
come in a manner we little expect." 

Let us, Paulina, endeavor to be in a frame of 
mind to bear either prosperity or adversity, both of 
which are severe tests of one's steadfastness." 

“ Is it ever permitted to mortals to obtain a glimpse 
of future events.? Have some persons an intimation 
of what is to happen to themselves or friends.? 
Whence arise those sudden and unaccountable pre- 
sentiments which occasionally come to persons of firm 
nerves, and clear, cool judgment .? " 

‘‘These and kindred subjects are interesting ques- 
tions for psychologists," replied the husband. 

Had Paulina Howard attempted to account for her 
unusual forebodings, she would probably have attrib- 


12 


SOLVING AND WAITING. 


uted them to disordered nerves, or imperfect diges- 
tion, which, no doubt, apply to many cases of the 
kind, but with her this was not true. She was both 
healthy and cheerful, neither had her fears been 
awakened by previous calamities, which often arouse 
a suspicion of danger. 


CHAPTER II. 


A SNOW STORM. 

** All day the gusty north wind bore 
The loosening drift its breath before.” 

As the night adiranced, the wind began to rise, at 
first with a low moaning sound, like the sigh of a 
gentle spirit, in the pine grove near, then it gradually 
increased, until it resembled the roar of distant 
waters coming near and nearer, when the sobbing 
billow passed by with a plaintive, dying wail, followed 
by others in succession, all through the night. To a 
lively imagination there is something melancholy and 
even startling in the hollow murmuring or piercing 
shriek of a winter’s tempest, as heard resounding 
through the forest, or as it comes searching about our 
dwellings, making every door and window tremble, as 
if these sad, unearthly sounds were the sighs and 
wails of unhappy spirits, or the exultant shouts of 
demons, holding their nightly revels. The mournful 
sounds were the harbingers of misfortune to the 
inmates of Glen Cottage, though they understood 
it not. They were occasionally aroused by the 
whistling wind or the dashing of the snow against 
the windows, but otherwise they took no notice of 
the storm until morning. 

It was snowing quite fast when Mr. Howard issued 
(13) 


14 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


from the house to attend to the wants of his mute 
dependents of the barn, and as he opened the stable 
door the gentle Fleety gave a neigh of recognition, 
intimating she had a keen appetite for breakfast. 
The oxen, cows, and sheep were all bountifully fed, 
while the fowls came flocking around their master 
for their share of his attention. On returning to the 
house, he remarked to his wife that there had not 
fallen much snow during the night, and though it was 
storming fast then, and was likely to continue to snow 
through the day, he had decided to go to the village 
directly after breakfast, despatch his business as soon 
as possible, and return before the roads became blocked. 

‘‘My dear, don’t think of going to-day in this 
storm,” replied his wife, “ wait until another time, 
when the weather is more favorable.” 

“ I have a payment to make ; the note is due to-day, 
and Mr. Merill is very exact in business transactions, 
therefore, I should not like to disappoint him ; besides, 
it is very important for a man to keep his word.” 

“ I acknowledge the force of your argument, but 
either my feelings or my judgment are opposed to 
them,” replied Mrs. Howard. 

After breakfast, and the usual morning duties were 
finished, Mr. Howard led Fleety from the stable, 
tackled her to a strong sleigh adapted to the deep 
snows of the country roads, drove up to the door, and 
threw over her a warm blanket, to protect her from 
the cold, while he was preparing himself for the 


A SNOW STORM, 


IS 


perilous journey. When ready to depart, little Willie 
raised his arms as a sign to be taken from his cradle, 
while Lillie pulled her father’s coat to gain his atten- 
tion which, for several minutes, she had vainly tried 
to do, saying, “Me want to ride, papa.” Imprinting 
a kiss upon the lips of each of his children and also 
of their mother, Mr. Howard sprang into the sleigh 
and was soon out of sight. 

The domestic cares of her family engrossed the 
thoughts and occupied the time of Paulina Howard 
so that for a while she took no notice of the storm 
raging without, but after the more urgent duties of 
her household had been attended to, her anxiety for 
the absent husband and father was awakened. Every 
gust of wind and every dash of snow against the 
windows sent a thrill of anguish to her heart. She 
attempted to divert her mind by reading some en- 
tertaining book, but the effort was useless. The 
words conveyed no meaning to her absent thoughts. 
She then endeavored to find diversion with her 
children, by telling them stories and in listening to 
their childish prattle. Anna shared, in some degree, 
her mother’s anxiety, and frequently expressed the 
wish that it would stop snowing and that papa wouM 
come home. 

Lillie had exhausted all her persuasive powers and 
patience in trying to teach her obdurate gray kitten. 
She had taken her picture alphabet, her own knowl-* 
edge of which comprised half a dozen letters, and 


1 6 SOWnVG AND WAITING. 

amused herself for an hour by teaching her mute 
playmate those mystical characters which have sorely 
puzzled the dawning intellect of so many rational 
beings, but the young teacher’s efforts met with little 
encouragement, for kitty would suddenly spring at 
the book, and quickly turn over the rustling leaves 
or she would adroitly busy her little saucy paw 
with Lillie’s curls, or perhaps give a sudden bound 
half across the room, and then whirl round after 
her tail. Finally the discouraged child burst into 
tears, crying, “ Kitty won’t say A.” 

The child’s grief arrested the attention of her 
mother, who, to divert her, placed Lillie in a chair by 
the window that she might watch the falling snow. 
In the early part of the storm it fell quite moder- 
ately, but as the day advanced it increased in vio- 
lence, while the wind blew it into huge drifts, block- 
ing the roads, covering the fences, and even piled it 
up to the eaves of the houses, so that no ingress or 
egress could be had without shovelling through the 
drifts. In front of Glen Cottage, the wind, suddenly 
turning a corner, had massed the snow into a heap, 
like the ridge of a mountain, with a variety of graceful 
curves. In another place it had capriciously taken 
all the snow, leaving the ground bare, and borne it 
along to the corner of the shed, where it was piled up 
like a pyramid. 

A snow-storm, to a lover of nature, has many 
charms. It combines the beautiful and the. sublime. 


A SNOW STORM. 


17 


The roaring of the winds through the forest, the 
swiftly descending showers of feathery snow, the vast 
masses of accumulating drifts, the difficulty and 
danger of encountering the angry elements, the ex- 
ceeding beauty of the scene after the storm has sub- 
sided, presenting vast fields of spotless purity, with 
graceful waves covering the earth, the trees bending 
with their wintry burdens, the mountains enveloped 
in their white mantles, — all combine to render a snow- 
storm one of the grandest and most beautiful of 
Nature’s varied phenomena. 

Mrs. Howard thought her husband would return by 
noon, but twelve o’clock came and no living object 
was visible through the flying clouds of snow which 
obscured the scene. One, two, three long hours 
passed, and still the anxious watcher moved from 
window to window to catch a glimpse of the object of 
her intense solicitude, but all in vain ; nothing could 
be seen or heard save the huge piles of snow and the 
roaring of the wind. She expected Harvey would 
slTrely be at home before dark, and made preparations 
for tea. The table was spread with a clean white 
cloth, and the dishes were arranged in perfect order; 
rich yellow butter and cheese were brought from the 
pantry, a bowl of sweet cream was poured into a tin 
basin and placed over the burning coals, the bread 
was cut into slices and toasted before the fire to make 
a dish of which her husband was fond. 

While these preparations were going on at the 


1 8 SOlVnVG AND WAITING. 

cottage, the husband and father was struggling with 
the fierce elements in order to reach his peaceful home 
and loving family. He had no difficulty in getting to 
the village of Jefferson, three miles distant from his 
home, although it was snowing all the time, but on 
arriving at Merill's store, greatly to his disappoint- 
ment, he learned from his boy that the proprietor had 
gone down the river on some business which would 
detain him for an hour or two. 

‘‘Well, then, I will wait for him,” said Mr. Howard, 
after revolving the subject over in his own mind, and 
then drove his horse under the shed, carefully pro- 
tecting her from the cold, and went into the store. 
Occupied with a newspaper, an hour passed quickly 
away, but the storm, in the meantime, increased in 
violence. The wind blew so furiously that it was 
almost impossible to see an object across the street. 
Howard began to grow impatient at MerilTs pro- 
longed absence, while thoughts of his defenceless 
family added strength to his anxiety. Finally, after 
waiting another hour, which seemed an age, he started 
with the intention of going to find Mr. Merill. but he 
went no farther than the shed, thinking it more pru- 
dent to reserve his own and Fleety’s strength for his 
hazardous journey home. 

The young farmer was not a person to be appalled 
by common dangers and difficulties, therefore he did 
not relinquish the object of his business. He was 
hopeful and vigorous, and accustomed to encounter 


A SATOPV STORM. 


19 


the storms of a New England winter, as they were 
known many years ago, but the thought of his beloved 
ones at home, and the anxiety his wife would feel at 
his prolonged absence, troubled his mind. 

After waiting some time longer, a sleigh drove up 
to the store, and a person so completely covered with 
snow as not to be recognized jumped out and began 
to divest himself of some of his wrappings. First, 
his fur mittens, cap, and tippet were removed, and 
then an overcoat with fur lining, cuffs, and collar 
were thrown off, revealing the figure of a man of 
middle life, known as the village merchant. 

*‘How d'ye do, Howard.^ Glad to see you; a 
severe storm," said Merill, in a rapid tone and hur- 
ried manner. 

“ Very well, sir. I have been waiting several hours 
to see you." 

Ah, yes, to-day is the 15th of the month. Yes, 
friend Howard, promptness in attending to business, 
as Uncle Jim used to say, is of the first importance. 
I Ve spent all the forenoon, beside exposing myself 
in this terrible storm, to collect a debt of Josh Tomp- 
kins. He promised to call and settle yesterday, and 
if he had kept his word, it would have saved me a 
great deal of trouble." 

So it seems," replied Howard. “ If agreeable to 
you, we will transact our business, as I am impatient 
to get home." 

Merill, never reluctant to settle accounts, espe- 


20 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


cially if the balance was in his favor, produced his 
papers and began to examine them. 

I am able to pay you this sum,” said Howard, 
handing him a roll of bills ; “it is not so much as I 
could wish, but it is all the savings of our last year’s 
labor. With a few more payments, I hope to have 
my farm free from debt.” 

“Oh, you need be in no hurry,” replied the trader; 
“you can take your own time.” 

The village store-keeper was a shrewd man, always 
looking out for the main chance. He had invested 
largely in landed estate by letting money on mort- 
gages, and in this manner coming into possession of 
several salable farms, whose owners were unable to 
redeem them. Howard had given him the same kind 
of security, and was paying a good interest, so that 
his creditor was perfectly willing that the debt should 
remain as long as the interest was paid, but the 
debtor had managed to liquidate also a part of the 
principal each year. 

It was with proud satisfaction that Harvey Howard 
left the store of Mr. Merill, after paying the last dol- 
lar of his year’s hard earnings. He felt some of the 
burden of a debt removed, and could breathe more 
freely, for the consciousness of owing anyone was 
galling to his independent mind, so that he began 
to retrace his journey towards home in a cheerful, 
hopeful spirit. . 

The village of Jefferson lay along the banks of the 


A SJVOIV STORM. 


21 


river La Molle, where the snow seldom drifted, and 
for half a mile it was comparatively easy for the 
sleigh to glide along ; but after leaving the main 
street, the road being hilly and not much travelled, 
the snow had drifted so that all traces of the highway 
in many places were completely obliterated. Then 
began the struggle for man and beast. Sometimes a 
high wall of snow crossed the road and suddenly 
arrested their progress, and before they could pro- 
ceed it must be demolished by the snow shovel and a 
path be made for the horse. Frequently, the trav- 
eller was obliged to take Fleety from the sleigh, lead 
her round the drift into the road, then drag the 
vehicle himself over the snow, which had become so 
compact as to support his own weight, with some 
skill on his part and an occasional plunge into the 
bank. In this manner he toiled on for some hours, 
so slow was his progress before he came into the 
neighborhood of his home. In the first part of his 
journey he was vigorous and hopeful, while the 
thought of rejoining his family stimulated him to 
great exertion in order to reach his home before dark. 

The cold became intense ; the wind blew furiously, 
and, in consequence of the deep snow and increasing 
darkness, it was difficult to keep the road. By long 
abstinence from food and the excessive fatigue of 
battling with the elements, Howard’s strength began 
to give way, before he had accomplished half his 
journey, and the sensation of cold was gradually 


22 


SPPV/NG AND WAITING. 


succeeded by languor and drowsiness. To yield to 
these feelings he knew would be dangerous, therefore 
he struggled against them for a time, while the fear 
of not being able to reach home nerved him to the 
most strenuous efforts ; but after toiling on for an 
hour longer, the strong and resolute hero was forced 
to yield. Anxiety for himself and family gave way to 
indifference, and he quietly yielded himself to his fate. 
He thought it would be a luxury to lie down upon the 
snow to sleep, while visions of perfect repose occupied 
his thoughts, and he felt an irresistible impulse to 
yield to their influence. He gradually became more 
insensible to external scenes, and the storm, home, 
and friends were all forgotten in the delightful sensa- 
tions he experienced. 

When he reached a tract of woods through which 
he must pass, his mind was in a dreamy, semi-con- 
scious state, in which surrounding objects became 
confused, blended, and transformed into airy visions. 
The trees, loaded with snow, suggested immense 
marble columns, whose tops reached to the clouds, 
while aisles aifd arches, glittering with diamonds, 
extended into boundless space. He thought he was 
passing through vast halls and corridors, with the 
ease and swiftness of disembodied spirits, and that 
melodious sounds greeted his ear, and thus he was 
borne along in this delightful hallucination until he 
was suddenly brought to the verge of a descent over 
which he plunged headlong, and knew nothing more. 


CHAPTER III. 


A GOOD SAMARITAN. 

“ Good deeds in this world done 
Are paid beyond the sun; 

As water on the root 
Is seen above in fruit.” 

‘‘John, did n*t a sleigh drive up to the shed.?'* said 
Mr. Walton to his son. 

“ I think so, father.” 

They listened a few moments, but as no one entered, 
John went to the door and saw a horse and sleigh, but 
no driver. 

“ That is Howard's team,” said Mr. Walton ; “ he 
has met with some accident. The horse is sweaty 
and trembling in every limb. Here, Harry,” to his 
second son, a lad of fourteen years, “ take this horse 
and put her in the barn, then bring out old Pete in 
less than no time and harness him for the sleigh. 
John, put on your frock, take the lantern, be as quick 
as possible, and jump in with me.” This bold, sturdy 
youth of seventeen was not long in getting ready for 
this sudden emergency, and father and son were soon 
in quest of their missing neighbor. 

Mr. Daniel Walton lived only about one hundred 
rods from the Howards, though their dwellings were 
(23) 


24 


SOfV/JVG AND WAITING. 


not in sight of each other as a gentle swell of the 
land concealed Glen Cottage from his home. At the 
foot of a hill, about one fourth of a mile from the lat 
ter, the road was crossed by a stream known in that 
region as ‘‘Bell Brook.*’ The bridge over it was a 
rude structure made of logs, with little or no protec- 
tion on the sides against accidents. The distance to 
the water below was from twelve to fifteen feet. 

After Mr. Howard had become too much stupefied 
with the cold to guide his horse, she took her own 
course. For some distance before coming to Bell 
Brook the road was lined on either side by forest 
trees so that Fleety had but little difficulty in keep- 
ing the path, but as she issued from the woods the 
snow drifts again opposed her progress. She seemed 
aware of her responsibility, for after she was left to 
herself and ceased to hear the encouraging voice of 
her master, she apparently acted with great caution 
in getting through the snow with her precious bur- 
den. There were but a few rods between the forest 
and the bridge before mentioned, but to cross in 
safety was a hazardous undertaking, for want of suit- 
able protection on the sides of the structure. The 
snow had drifted so as to incline the sleigh to one 
side, which threw Howard out, and being so near the 
edge he fell to the ice below, while the horse and 
sleigh went on without further accident. 

Mr. Walton had not proceeded far before he left 
the team to the care of John, and taking a lantern 


A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


25 


advanced on foot, carefully examining every object in 
his way, lest he might pass by the unfortunate man 
without seeing him. He had started so soon after 
receiving notice of the accident that the track of 
Howard’s sleigh had not been entirely effaced by the 
drifting snow, and by close inspection of every rod of 
ground, he judged that it could not have been overset 
between his house and the bridge; On arriving at 
the brook, Mr. Walton discovered tracks very near 
the edge ; the thought occurred to him to raise his 
lantern so as to throw its light upon the stream below, 
when his quick eye detected a dark mass which he at 
once concluded to be the object of his search. 

He shouted to John to hasten with the team, and 
as soon as he had joined his father, the two proceeded 
to descend to the stream below, but before they could 
reach it they were obliged to make a path with their 
shovels which they applied with vigor. They soon 
forced a way to the object seen from the bridge, that 
proved to be the unconscious form of Harvey Howard. 
They returned with it as rapidly as circumstances 
allowed, hoping to restore animation by using proper 
remedies, if indeed life had not already become 
extinct. 

Wife,” said Walton, get ready your spare room, 
for I ’ve found Howard senseless with the cold, and 
I ’m afraid I shall have a hard task to revive him.” 
Mrs. Jane Walton, generally known as ** Aunt Jenny,” 
was a genial, kind-hearted woman, whose sympathies 


26 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


for all rational and irrational beings, whatever their 
deserts, knew no bounds. Her benevolence was not 
of the sentimental kind, which expends itself in 
sighs, tears, and kind words, all well enough as far as 
they go, but she added to these a helping hand. On 
hearing this abrupt and startling intelligence she was 
for a moment lost in amazement, but her practical 
good sense came quickly to her aid, and she hastily 
made preparations for the accommodation of her 
unfortunate neighbor. It would have been a perilous 
undertaking to send for a physician during a storm 
so severe, for Dr. Clive, the only medical man in the 
town, resided at the village, and no one would be 
willing to expose himself unless absolutely necessary. 

The early settlers of the country had, from neces- 
sity, been compelled to rely upon their own judgment 
and skill, to a great extent, when sudden illness or 
accident occurred among themselves, and the expe- 
rience thus acquired rendered the advice of a physician 
less frequently necessary than in populous regions, 
where the inhabitants are more inclined to refer all 
sanitary questions to a professional adviser. Mr. 
Walton, who had settled on his farm when it was a 
waste howling wilderness, twenty years before, 
understood the signs of the climate, both from expe- 
rience and observation, since he had rescued more 
than one human being from the dangers and hardships 
of winter ; therefore he knew what remedies to apply 
in such cases as that of Mr. Howard. It was some 


A GOOD SAMARITAN-. 


27 


time, however, before he could discover any signs of 
life in his patient, when a little fluttering about the 
heart encouraged him to persevere in his humane 
effort. 

What will Mrs. Howard think of her husband’s 
absence.^” inquired Mrs. Walton. ‘'She will be 
fearfully anxious about him.” 

“Yes, wife, you are right to think of her. I had 
forgotten she must be informed.” 

Mr. Walton’s presence of mind seldom failed him 
in an emergency, therefore, calling his son Harry, he 
said to him, “You may go to Mrs. Howard and tell 
her what has happened.” 

“Why not send John, who is older and stronger 
interposed his mother. 

“ I have work for him which Harry cannot do,” 
was the reply. The lad, proud to be entrusted with 
a difficult mission, was ready to obey. “ Put on snow- 
shoes and hang the tin horn about your neck, that in 
case you get into trouble, you can let us know it. 
Stay all night, and see to the work of attending to 
the chores of the barn in the morning. Hold, not 
quite so fast ! ” The lad, in his eagerness, started to go 
before receiving all his orders. “ You need not wait 
until morning, but look after the cattle to-night, since 
Howard left home early in the day, and I am sure no 
woman could possibly go out in this storm.” 

The mother followed her favorite son from the room 
to assist him in making preparations to brave the 


28 


SOW/MG AND WAITING. 


storm. He put on a long wollen frock over his ordi- 
nary dress, and wore a warm cap tied under his chin, 
while his mother wound a long tippet several times 
around his neck, and tied it in front. He put on 
leggins to protect his feet and ankles, and a pair of 
shaggy mittens on his hands. When armed and 
equipped with snow-shoes, horn, and lantern, Harry 
was ready for his adventure, but not without some 
chafing of his independent spirit by the cautions of 
his tender mother. He wished she would n’t always 
“ keep him tied up to her apron strings ” ; he. guessed 
he could take care of himself ; he would show what 
he could do, and that he should have attended to the 
chores of the barn if his father had n’t to’.d him. 
The Waltons had three sons, the two already 
mentioned, and a third named Arthur, who was too 
young to understand the cause of the recent catastro- 
phe. They had lost two daughters in one week some 
years before by that terrible scourge of children, the 
scarlet fever, therefore it was natural that the mother 
should feel a tender solicitude for those of her family 
that had been spared to her. 

Before Harry left, Mrs. Walton very judiciously 
qualified her husband’s brief orders, by advising her 
son not to make known to the full extent Mr. 
Howard’s danger, but say he had become so chilled 
by the cold, and Fleety was so tired that it was 
thought advisable for him to remain all night at their 
house, and in the morning, after the road was “ broken 


A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


29 


out/' he would return, if he was able, to his own home. 
“Poor Mrs. Howard; it would break her heart to 
know his real condition. By morning I hope he will 
be himself again." Her husband's voice from another 
room cut short her reflections, and Harry was allowed 
to go on his errand. 

The sorrow of young hearts is transient, passing 
away as a light cloud which, for a moment, partially 
obscures the brightness of the sun. So had it been 
with the younger members of Glen Cottage ; they 
had, for several hours, been wrapped in peaceful 
slumbers ; the fire on the hearth had burned out, 
leaving only a few smouldering brands ; the candle, 
with its feeble rays, only revealing the gloom and 
darkness of the room, had burned down to its socket 
and was about to go out, when the watchful eye of 
Paulina Howard caught the glimpse of a light dancing 
about here and there in the stormy darkness. Some- 
times she lost sight of it entirely, and thought it only 
a delusion of her excited imagination ; then it would 
appear again while all the time it seemed to be ap- 
proaching nearer the house. Can it be my husband } " 
thought she. ‘‘ He may have been obliged to leave 
his horse and return on foot," and her heart bounded 
for joy at the idea of seeing him again. Then the 
question would arise, “ Is it some messenger to an- 
nounce the fatal tidings of his death } " when she 
would experience a keen anguish, lest her fears should 
prove true. She was not, however, permitted to 


30 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


remain long in doubt, for presently a rap was heard 
at the door which, though gentle, drove the bloom 
from her cheeks and the strength from her limbs ; 
she sank down upon a chair, while the call for ad 
mission became louder. Recovering herself in a few 
moments she opened the door and found there the 
young lad. 

Mrs. Howard saw with amazement the queer little 
object before her, but did not recognize him until she 
was accosted by ** Good evening, marm,’' when she 
knew the voice, and anxiously inquired what had 
happened. Harry, a boy of quick instincts, took no 
notice of her alarm, but quietly said, “ A very hard 
storm,” which led her to see the impropriety of keep- 
ing him standing in the cold, when she admitted him 
without further question, lighted a fresh candle, 
placed more fuel on the fire and proceeded to assist 
him to remove his outside garment. 

‘‘What could have brought you out this stormy 
night?” inquired his friend. “Something unusual 
has happened, I am sure. Have you heard from or 
seen Mr. Howard ? ” The words of the last question 
were scarcely audible, for her emotions were too strong 
to be suppressed. The boy then told her as many of 
the circumstances before narrated, as his mother had 
suggested, adding that he thought she would be anx- 
ious and lonesome, and he would stay with her 
through the night, if she liked. Mrs. Howard felt a 
great weight had been removed from her heart as her 


1 


A GOOD SAMARITAN. 21 

husband was still alive. She thanked the lad with 
tears of gratitude for his kind act in exposing him 
self to the severity of the storm in the darkness of 
the night, but her solicitude could not be entirely 
overcome, therefore she made further inquiries. 
Harry tried to evade answering her questions by say- 
ing his father told him to go immediately to the barn, 
and see if everything was right there. 

Love is quick to detect the presence of danger to 
the object beloved, and the devoted wife perceived 
that she had not been informed of all the truth in 
relation to her husband, but she resolved to endure in 
silence the painful suspense until the next day should 
reveal the worst. That night, however, brought no 
repose to her agitated mind; her imagination, ren- 
dered intensely vivid by anxious watching and the vio- 
lence of the tempest without, conjured up the wildest 
phantoms producing a state of mind bordering on 
frenzy. She was aware of this, and concluded she 
had greatly exaggerated the horrors of her situation, 
but this did not calm her feelings ; she knew some 
change must be made to divert her thoughts, so she 
arose and sat by a window opening to the east, and 
watched for the dawn of a day which proved the sad- 
dest in her life. 

The storm had subsided, the sky was clear, and the 
stars were sparkling like brilliants in their dark 
setting. A feeble light was glimmering in the east» 
indicating the approach of day ; the faint illumination 


32 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


gradually increased in brightness, until all the spark- 
ling gems of the firmament disappeared, when a soft 
rose tint was diffused over the eastern sky, which 
deepened in color and painted the clouds still hover- 
ing over the quiet earth, and imparting to the snow a 
delicate hue, presenting a scene of exquisite beauty. 

Paulina Howard, whose love of nature in all her 
moods was intense, approaching almost to adoration, 
forgot for the moment her anxiety, and exclaimed 
aloud, “How beautiful; how grand ! ” and remained 
watching the enchanting scene until the sun rose in 
his majesty. The “ King of Day ” is a powerful 
charmer, for he not only dispels the darkness of 
nature, but also the gloom of a troubled spirit. Sun- 
light is often a better remedy for curing the “ maladies 
of the mind,” and preventing a long train of physical 
evils, than all the stores of the materia medica. Such 
was its influence upon the distressed mistress of Glen 
Cottage as she witnessed this early morning glory, 
when the ruler of the day, emblem of the Son of 
Righteousness, rose to warm and enlighten the' world. 
She was encouraged to resign herself and all her anx- 
ious cares into the hands of a merciful Father, and 
abide the issue. The psalm read on the evening 
before the storm came to her mind with a new inter- 
pretation, and the recollection brought from her eyes 
the tears which relieved her burdened spirits. 

The importunate summons from infantile voices 
called her attention to her little flock, when the wants 


A GOOD SAMARITAN, 


33 


of her family kept her busy all the morning, and par- 
tially diverted her thoughts from painful reflections. 
Harry Walton had been busily employed in shovelling 
the snow from the paths, and in caring for the inmates 
of the barn, with a zeal and fidelity which justified his 
claims to the same credit given to his elder brother. 

Every effort had been made to restore Mr. Howard 
to consciousness. Mr. Walton thought he discovered 
symptqms of life, and was as hopeful as the circum- 
stances would allow. He depended much upon the 
strong constitution of his patient for a safe and speedy 
recovery, and said to his wife, ‘‘If Howard has sus- 
tained no serious internal injury from his fall, I see 
no reason why he may not, in the course of a few 
days, be out of danger.'' The signs of returning 
consciousness grew stronger through the night, and 
towards morning the invalid had so far recovered as 
to speak in a low, faint voice. Mr. Walton eagerly 
listened to catch the first articulate words he uttered 
to ascertain whether his reason had been affected by 
the disaster. At first, he could hear only a word now 
and then, but these indicated that the sufferer thought 
he was yet struggling with the tempest. His words 
increased as his consciousness returned, but his sen- 
tences were incoherent, and indicated that he sup- 
posed he was struggling with some fearful danger. 
These symptoms excited the fears of his watchers, 
who believed it was important to seek medical advice 
as soon as possible. 


34 


SOIVING AND WAIl'ING. 


When daylight appeared, Mr. Waltoji called his 
eldest son, and directed him to take the oxen and 
sled, with the necessary implements for making his 
way through the drifts, and get the neighbors, with 
their teams, to assist in “breaking out the roads.” 
In the course of two hours John had collected three 
or four strong sleds drawn by oxen, and about a dozen 
stalwart men, at his father’s door. People living in 
the country, with a scattered population, feel a lively 
interest in one another’s welfare, and are prompt to 
obey the calls of neighborly kindness, even at the 
expense of personal loss and inconvenience. 

“Allen, ’ said Mr. Walton, addressing one of his 
neighbors, “ will you take your team and make a road 
to Howard s, and send Mary down in my sleigh to 
stay with the children, then bring Howard’s wife? 
Tell my son Harry to remain and do the chores.” 
The person addressed immediately set to work, while 
the others waited for special directions. Two strong 
teams were sent forward towards the village with 
injunctions to call on the inhabitants along the way 
for assistance, and to make all possible speed to bring 
the doctor. 


CH’APTER IV. 


BURIED HOPES. 


“We see but dimly through the mists and vapors 
Amid these earthly damps.” 

The delirium of the sick man increased, and a high 
fever attended it, which alarming symptom excited 
the fears of the cool and unimpassioned Daniel Wal- 
ton. ‘‘ I would give my best cow,'* said he, “ to see 
Howard fairly over this," while Aunt Jenny could not 
restrain her tears as she heard their patient talk almost 
incessantly of his wife and little ones. Sometimes 
he would address them as if they were about him, in 
the innocent joy of former days, and then as if they 
were in imminent danger, while he was endeavoring 
to rescue them. It is always an affecting scene, when 
a strong man, upon whom the weaker portion of the 
household has been accustomed to depend for sup- 
port and protection, is stricken down by disease or 
accident. 

By the middle of the forenoon, Mrs. Howard, with 
her infant, arrived at Mr. Walton’s, the other chil- 
dren having been left at the cottage, in the care of 
Mary Allen. A short time before she came her hus 
band had fallen into a broken slumber, and it was 

( 35 ) 


36 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


thought best not to disturb him by entering the 
room. His wife had been schooling her heart to en- 
dure the worst, and thought she should be calm, but 
when she was informed of the real state of the case 
it seemed like driving the dagger anew into her already 
bleeding heart. Though the kindness and sympathy 
of her neighbors were appreciated, yet she found it dif- 
ficult to subdue the agony of her spirit and preserve 
an outward calmness. Arthur Walton tried to amuse 
baby Willie Howard, but when the little fellow could 
not see his mother he became alarmed at finding him- 
self in a strange place, and began to cry. The well- 
known voice of the child attracted the attention of 
his father in the adjoining room, who, aroused from 
his slumber, said, “ Willie, Paulina,” in a feeble voice, 
but more rational than it had seemed before. 

Mrs. Walton thought this the most favorable moment 
for his wife to speak to him, and led her to his bed- 
side. The fever had abated, and the invalid lay with 
his eyes closed, motionless and pale, and but for the 
trembling of his lips and a rapid labored respiration, 
one would have supposed his life had departed. The 
heart-stricken wife gave one look at his features, then 
sank upon a chair overcome by her emotions. As if 
conscious of her presence, her husband pronounced 
her name again, which instantly brought her to his 
side. Bending over him, she said, “ Harvey.” The 
voice acted as a spell to recall his wandering reason ; 
a smile of recognition passed over his features ; he 


BURIED HOPES. 


37 


opened his eyes and said, Is this you, Paulina ? ” 
then his mind was lost again. In the course of the 
afternoon Dr. Clive arrived, and was welcomed by 
anxious friends. 

Who does not know with what a palpitating heart, 
what anxious fears, what searching looks, what sus- 
pense between hope and despair, the physician is 
conducted, for the first time to the couch of the 
sufferer when life is hanging on a mere thread } How 
closely the sorrowing friends watch his countenance 
to read there the sick one's fate, and how timidly do 
they ask his opinion, lest his answer might blast their 
hopes. 

- Dr. Silas Clive was a man in middle life, tall, some- 
what spare, and constitutionally inclined to pulmon- 
ary disease, which forced him to be cautious about 
exposing his health, a judicious act, since he was 
obliged to ride long distances to visit his patients in 
the cold and storms of a rigorous climate. Over his 
ordinary dress he wore a long, gray coat with a hood 
which he could draw at pleasure, over a fur cap ; 
besides this he was furnished with fur tippet and 
mittens, and on a cold winter day two buffalo robes 
completed his outfit. His person was so completely 
disguised that a stranger would be at a loss to say 
what species of animal he represented, for nothing of 
his features could been seen except a pair of keen 
gray eyes, peering over his muffler, and the end of a 
somewhat prominent nose. 


38 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


The doctor was very deliberate in all his move- 
ments. It was some time before his horse and sleigh 
were properly cared for before his entering the house, 
when he was obliged to go through the process of 
disrobing. This operation was performed with as 
much precision as if he was removing the cerements 
of an Egyptian mummy, and, arranging his garments 
over the back of a chair, he seated himself before 
the warm fire. After some remarks in regard to the 
weather, he quietly made a few inquiries about the 
patient. Mr. Walton briefly related the circum- 
stances of the accident, the symptoms of the sufferer, 
and what had been done for him. All this time Mrs. 
Howard had been watching Dr. Clive’s countenanqe 
for some indication of his opinions, but with all her 
scrutiny she was unable to decide what he thought. 
Not a muscle of his face moved ; he did not even raise 
his eyes but sat looking intently into the fire with 
imperturbable gravity, and waited until Mr. Walton 
had finished his story, then rose and inquired care- 
lessly where Howard was. 

The doctor was not indifferent to human suffering ; 
he did not regard his patients as mere subjects for 
physiological experiments, but he considered them as 
belonging to the great brotherhood of man, needing 
sympathy as well as professional advice. His appar- 
ent insensibility was the result of a constant effort to 
repress a naturally impulsive temperament. Human 
suffering always awakened his sympathies which were 


BURIED HOPES. 


39 


usually manifested by some considerate act of benevo- 
lence, all the more acceptable because offered so 
timely and unostentatiously. 

When the doctor entered the room of the patient 
and saw what a change had been wrought in a few 
hours, in one whose prospects for a long life were, a 
short time before, so promising, he was deeply moved, 
and when he took the hand of his patient, a startled 
look, for an instant, passed over his features, then his 
countenance assumed a settled, anxious expression. 

Dr. Clive, like most other physicians, did not care 
to reply to many questions respecting his professional 
duties, and those he did answer were, usually, brief, 
though, unlike some in his profession, he never en- 
couraged false hopes, therefore, when he did give an 
opinion, it was what he believed to be the truth. 

With some hesitation, Mrs. Howard ventured to 
say, '‘Doctor, what do you think of my husband 

He gently replied, "Madam, your husband is very 
ill. He has a brain fever ; the crisis will be passed 
by to-morrow morning, but until then I shall not 
abandon all hope,” slightly emphasizing the word all, 
which did not escape the notice of Mrs. Howard. 

He then gave some directions about the remedies 
to be used and strictly enjoined that no one be admitted 
into the sick room, except those attending the patient, 
and said, " I will return by nine o’clock this evening, 
and remain with him through the night.” 

The inhabitants for several miles around Glen 


40 


SOmNG AND IVA/TJNG. 


Cottage had heard of the accident to Mr. Howard, 
and came to offer their services and sympathy. Some 
of the more inconsiderate were offended at the physi- 
cian’s positive orders, though they knew it would be 
useless to oppose the firmness of Dr. Clive. Mr. 
Cutler, an officious though really kind neighbor, said, 
‘‘The Howards are very exclusive and Walton takes 
too much upon himself when he allows nothing to be 
done except by his directions. We have assisted in 
clearing the roads and now are not allowed to see a 
sick neighbor. Well, for my part, I shall not urge 
my services upon them.” This was said in an under- 
tone, but it attracted Mrs. Walton’s notice, when she 
explained the necessity for such a prohibition, on ac- 
count of the danger of excitement, and added, ‘‘We 
are all very grateful for our neighbors’ services and 
we may be obliged to call upon them again for their 
assistance.” These timely remarks made in a kind 
spirit soothed Mr. Cutler’s wounded feelings and 
restored harmony among the others. 

For some unexpected reason, Mr. Chapin, one of 
the neighbors, did not hear of the accident that had 
caused so much excitement, until twenty-four hours 
after the event, when, calling at Walton’s, he learned 
all the particulars. 

‘‘ Good evening Mr. Walton ; what ’s the news ? ” 

‘‘ Very sad news, Mr, Chapin.” 

“ Why, what ’s the matter ? ” 

“ Mr. Howard went to the village yesterday, and 


BURIED HOPES. 


41 


coming home was chilled and thrown out of his sleigh 
at Bell Brook.” 

** Marvellous, entirely. Was he killed } ” 

‘‘ Not quite so bad as that, but with the cold and 
the fall I *m afraid it will go hard with him. He is at 
my house, and the Doctor has been to see him.” 

^‘Marvellous, entirely. I must go home and tell 
Prudy ; perhaps she can help him.” She was his 
wife, to whose decision he always deferred every 
question. Mr. Chapin's favorite expression when 
hearing of any news was uttered as if it was one word, 
as “ marvellous 'tirely,” which gave him the sobri- 
quet of “ Marvellous Chapin.” He had the habit of 
jerking off his words “like the click of a telegraph,” 
hence it required some skill to utter this combination, 
but by contraction and elision he accomplished the 
feat. 

Prudy was as deliberate as Marvellous was quick, 
and it required some time for a new idea to enter her 
cranium, and after it had found a lodging there, she 
was so shy of the stranger, and so suspicious of its 
purport, that she was accustomed to scan it from head 
to foot, inside and out, before she would give it wel- 
come. When at last she became satisfied that it was 
bona fide, a genuine idea, she clung to it with inflexible 
pertinacity, for her list of such aids was very small. 

Marvellous hurried home to tell the news. 

“ Prudy, Prudy. Where is the woman } Marvel- 
lous 'tirely, what, what, Prudy.” His wife came from 


42 


SOmNG AND IVAITING. 


the pantry after finishing her preparations for a loaf 
of bread, went to the sink and washed the dough from 
her hands, wiped them deliberately, and then sat down 
as quietly as she would have done if her “ good man 
was not greatly excited while relating the news he 
had heard. 

Marvellous, Prudy, what can you do ? Will you 
go to the Howards } ” 

She opened her eyes wide, adjusted her cap strings, 
took up the corner of her apron and folded it down, 
then smoothed it out again, and finally, after some 
time, she seized the idea and replied, Well, husband, 
you don’t say so ! ” 

Dr. Clive, according to appointment, returned and 
tended his patient with the gentleness of a careful 
mother through the night, but no effort of his could 
arrest the danger. Howard’s sufferings prevented 
any rest until near morning, then he fell into a 
quiet slumber and remained in this state for several 
hours. When he awoke he was perfectly sane, but it 
was a revival that sometimes precedes the final change, 
and it was apparent that he was approaching the end. 
The dying man was conscious of his situation, and 
expressed a wish to see all his family once more, when 
the absent children were sent for and brought into 
his presence. 

Anna was old enough to comprehend the meaning 
of the affecting scene, and her heart seemed ready to 
break as she clung to her father so firmly that it would 


BURIED HOPES, 


43 


seem she wished to detain him longer, when her grief 
became so demonstrative that she was removed from 
the room, and it was long before Mrs. Walton’s ten- 
derness could soothe her. The other children were 
too young to understand the loss they were soon to 
suffer, but the artless and childish efforts of Lillie to 
calm her mother’s grief only increased it, and the 
children were all taken out of the room after receiving 
their father’s last blessing. Mr. Howard then ex- 
pressed a wish to be left alone with his wife. After 
every one had gone out of the room, leaving them 
together, the husband seemed to gain strength for 
the last scene. 

He related his experience after leaving the village 
until the accident, then said, 

“ Paulina, my dear, come near and give me a fare- 
well kiss.” 

The weeping wife placed her burning lips upon his, 
which were icy cold, when a shudder came over her, 
for she had not thought death was so near. 

Dearest, you have been a faithful and affectionate 
wife. You never caused me one painful feeling. My 
career has been short, and for you and our children’s 
sake I wish I might recover ; but as to myself, my 
hope is founded on the Rock of Ages. My Redeemer 
liveth, and I go to inherit the rest prepared for me. 
It will not be very long before you, my love, and the 
dear children, I hope, will join me in the world above. 
You will, I know, endeavor to train our precious ones 


44 


SOW/NG AND WA/TING. 


for usefulness here and a happy life hereafter. My 
strength is failing, and can say no more Will 
you read to me something encouraging from the 
Scriptures ” 

Mrs. Howard opened a large family Bible and read 
passage after passage in her soft, clear voice, when 
the countenance of the dying husband lighted up 
with intense pleasure, and he placed his hand in hers. 
The reader paused, and saw that a sudden change had 
come over him ; she gently raised his head, but the 
spirit had departed so calmly that not a muscle of his 
placid features had moved. The widowed mourner 
kissed the cold brow and tenderly replaced him upon 
the pillow, closed his eyes, adjusted the drapery about 
the bed, and withdrew for others to complete the last 
sad offices for the silent dead. 

Real grief desires seclusion, and it is not proper to 
intrude upon the sacredness of those feelings which 
bereaved hearts indulge. 

“ Let me die,” said one called away in the bloom 
and promise of youth, “ when the fields are clothed 
with verdure ; when the trees are adorned with their 
leafy ornaments, and the feathered songsters will 
come and sing my dirge in their branches ; when 
the rose, honeysuckle, and jasmine shall perfume the 
breezes which play about my tomb ; when the bee is 
humming from flower to flower, and the butterfly is 
fluttering over hill and meadow ; then I shall not be 
lonely in my quiet grave. But may I not depart when 


BURIED HOPES. 


45 


the smiling fields and blue hills are covered with 
snow ; when the wind with piercing cold rushes 
through the leafless branches, and bird, insect, and 
flower have disappeared and nature is laid out in her 
White shroud. Oh, then it will be gloomy about my 
dark grave.'' 

Thus thought the disconsolate mourner, as she 
Stood by the cold grave of the loved and early lost, 
on a bleak December day, as the winds whistled 
through the leafless branches of a willow near. 
Finally the sad rites were pver, as the sexton threw 
the last shovelful of earth on the new-made grave, 
yet the silent mourner stood in speechless agony, 
until urged to go by sympathizing friends. As if to 
add another pang to her sorrow, Lillie, who had been 
watching the operations of the sexton, when she found 
her father was left behind, shrieked, Papa will be cold, 
bring papa back," and it .was^ not until after much 
persuasion that she could be induced to go without 
him. ^ * 


CHAPTER V. 


A YOUNG QUESTIONER. 

‘‘ The face that once like spring-time smiled, 

On earth no more thou ’It see.” 

The cottage in the valley, which had sheltered its 
happy inmates for many years, was still the same ; 
its cheerful sunlight, its attractive neatness and quiet 
comfort remained unchanged ; but to the heart of Pau- 
lina Howard her once delightful home became sad and 
gloomy. The sound of one familiar footstep and one 
encouraging voice was missing, and one beloved form 
was absent from the fireside circle, the festive board, 
and the family altar. A link in the golden chain of 
domestic life had been broken and could never be 
restored in this world. 

Several friends offered to remain with her through 
the night after the funeral, but thanking them for 
their kindness and sympathy, she frankly said she 
preferred to be alone with her little family that she 
might have leisure for calm reflection after the excit- 
ing scenes of the past few days. 

Harry Walton had made himself very useful at the 
cottage during this time. He had performed faith- 
fully all the out-door tasks, besides the errands neces- 
(46) 


A YOUNG QUESTIONER, 


47 

sary on the mournful occasion of Mr. Howard’s death 
and burial. 

Is there anything more for me to do ? ” said the 
boy with a cheerful smile. 

Then, not wishing to intrude upon the private 
grief of Mrs. Howard, he said, '‘If I can be of no 
further use to-night, I will go home and return in the 
morning.” 

"You can go, Harry, if you wish. You have been 
a great help ; a man could have done no better. I 
hope to prove to you some time how highly I appre- 
ciate your kindness.” The lad’s countenance beamed 
with pleasure as he received this commendation from 
one whom he regarded with the greatest respect. 

The young widow was now alone with her father- 
less children for the first time since the fatal acci- 
dent which so suddenly clouded her earthly prospects. 
She must hereafter perform the duties of both parents. 
How could this be done ? While occupied with these 
thoughts she mechanically went through the arrange- 
ments for the evening, and from the force of habit, 
the little work-table was placed before the fire and 
the arm-chair by its side. The Bible lay upon the 
table — it was the hour for evening devotion — and 
she seemed to be waiting for some one to open its 
sacred pages ; but the arm-chair was tenantless. 
Painful thoughts occupied her mind, as the reality of 
her loss presented itself with a force unfelt before, 
and now came the struggle, whether she could resist 


48 


SOmjVG AND WAITING, 


the" tide^ of ^grief which was rushing upon her or 
whether ,she^ would yield and be engulfed in its 
waves. 


^ In all her ^ast trials, she had leaned upon the arm 
of her hus'bandior support ; now she must rely upon 
ibivihe aid^ alone for as she^was the only guide of 
tliree small chilftreri, she would need something more 
than human sympathy and assistance. Should she 
succumb to a blow which had fallen upon others as 
well as hepelf, andyield.to ^a selfish grief ? It must 
not be • her duty' to he^rjamily, to herself, to society, 
to the memory of the Ipst one, and, above all, to her 
Heavenly Father,' forbadp it, therefore she would 
bring all her resolution to overcome it, and in this 
effort she was confident of Divine assistance. 

• ' "VA A ^ ■* 

With a firm resolution, she opened the Scriptures 


and read passages be^t ^^dapted to afford encourage- 
ment,' when new ligl;it,xlawned upon her mind; she 

fTU^T. ' * , 'J ... 

read^.these texts again and. again, while every time 
theyVere exarnined sh9 gained fresh courage. Her 
tears flowed, biitfhey were tears of submissive sorrow 

r 11 .' 

and, like the gentle ram falling upon the buried seed. 


they nourished ^the precious truth which had been 
planted in her heart. She folded to her bosom her 
fatherless babes, and resolved to make their training 
the chief object of her future life ; it had been the 
dying request of her husband, and for this reason was 
regarded as a sacred duty ; henceforth, she made it 
a special study how it could best be accomplished. 


49 


A YOUNG ^QUESTIONER. 

Before Mrs. ^ Howard’s^'bereavement, her husband, 
whbse views* fully Coincided' with her own on the 
subject, assisted her in the rnanagement of their lit- 
tle^ fiitnily,' but tKesW'responsibilities would now be 
h(dfs alorie.^' ‘ 

Anna had freen a'flowed' to sit up later than the 
younger children, but when her hour came for retir- 
ing, withoui*\^aitihg 'to be "told, she withdrew to her 
littlb* bed-robru' communicating with her mother's 
more corn modibus sleepiiig ‘apartment, but on this 
evening when her bed-time came, instead of retiring 
as usual, she welif td her rhbther, threw her arms 
around her neck, and biifsT: into tears. Mrs. Howard 
took thb sbbbihg child ill her arms and, after allowing 
tiiue fb^f- Ihi^^’vehehierfce of her grief to subside, said, 
“ My dear little daughter^/ "what makes you weep so 
“ I don’t want to die and be 'buried in the ground. 
It is alf dark^aihd colcf thdre?^ 

Have you been thinking^ about dying, Anna ? ” 
'‘Yes, mamma, and 1 think I should not like to go 
to heaven.” 

“Heaven is a very delightful place, my darling; 
more beautiful than anything you ever saw. It is 
neither cold nor dark there, and its inhabitants never 
suffer pain or sorrow, but are always very happy.” 

“ Mamma, you said papa had gone to heaven ; why 
then must he be buried in the grave .^” 

“ Do you understand the difference between your 
soul and your body 


50 


SOIV/ATG AND IVAiriNG. 


“ My soul thinks and my body eats, drinks, sleeps, 
and wears clothes ; besides, it feels pain when hurt.” 

“Yes, and the body is mortal, that is, it must die, 
but the soul can never die. The body knows nothing, 
feels nothing, after the soul leaves it. When your 
father died, his soul left his body, and it is only that 
which was put in the ground. It cannot feel cold or 
lonesome, because it knows nothing, but his soul, 
which knows and feels, has gone to heaven. Have 
you heard of any persons who were taken to heaven 
without dying .? ” 

“Yes, mamma. Enoch and Elijah.” * 

“ Do you know of any others } ” 

“No, I have not read of any others in my Bible.” 

“ Then how do you think all good people who have 
lived in past ages went to heaven ? ” 

“They died, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, and were buried just as your father has been. 
Now can you tell me who died and was buried, that 
was greater than Enoch or Elijah ? ” 

“ Was it Jesus, mother } ” 

“Yes, my dear. He has lain in the grave and has 
taken away its terrors.” 

“Jesus rose from the grave, mamma. Will papa 
come back to us ” 

“ He will rise at some future time, with a new and 
glorious body.” 

The countenance of the young inquirer seemed 
perplexed when her mother added. 


A YOUNG QUESTIONER, 


SI 

‘*My precious child, you must not think any more 
of the subject now, but when you are older you may, 
perhaps, understand more about it. Cannot my little 
timid child trust herself in her Saviour’s arms ? He 
is more gentle and loving than her own mother can 
be.” 

Mrs. Howard kissed her and tenderly folded her in 
her arms, when her troubled spirit was quieted by the 
accents of maternal love. 

Anna was so quiet and reserved in her manners 
that her mother was not a little surprised at the dis- 
play of so deep feeling. Her young daughter had 
taken but little interest in childish pastimes, but was 
devotedly attached to books, and would often with- 
draw from play to read in some retired place, free 
from the intrusion of others. She exhibited a serious 
thoughtfulness with a tendency to excessive sensi- 
bility, which increased as she grew older, and would 
be likely to cause her much unhappiness in later years. 
The two sisters were quite different in their charac-^ 
ters. Anna was slow to anger, but sullen and not 
easily conciliated, while Lillie was vehement, though 
her anger soon subsided. Both were eager to learn, 
though in a different way. Anna sought knowledge 
from books, while Lillie, too young to read, depended 
upon her powers of observation and her skill in asking 
questions, sometimes amusing and often annoying to 
the one questioned. Since their mother had been so 
careful in her instructions, it was not surprising that 


52 -’ sowrN'G'-AjV£>'‘ivAirmG. 

her children were superior in attainments to most 
others of their own age.^ 

The neighbors were so scattered that their families 
were not often brought into -direct communication 
with one another, except when they met at school, 
which was kept only a part of the year, and as Anna 
had never attended one of them, she was acquainted 
with only a few children of her Own age. Her mother 
had regretted this circumstance, and felt it would be 
a great mistake to keep her secluded from all young 
associates, and decided' that something must be done 
to divert her daughter's ‘attention from too close 
application to reading. 

Aftfer Harry Walton had finished his morning task 
at the barn, Mrs. Howard invited him to join the 
family at the breakfast table, when she inquired about 
his studies, and the kind of reading he preferred. 
His replies' disclosed his fondness for books of travel 
and tales of adventure, which had stimulated his 
desire for more of the kind, not within his limited 
means. She cordially invited him to examine her 
bookcase and select what pleased him. The young 
lad was delighted when he saw “ Robinson Crusoe,” 
whose wonderful adventures he had heard of, but had 
never read. 

“I should like this book, if you please,” said Harry. 

“ Certainly,” replied Mrs. Howard. “ Do you attend 
school ? ” 

“ I have been until within a few days, and intend 


A YOUNG QUESTIONER, 


S3 

to go to-day, unless you have something for me to 
do/’ 

** I shall not need you Who is your teacher?” 

** Mr. Layton. He is first-rate ; I like him very 
much.” 

The school had been kept about two weeks when 
the accident, which cast a gloom over the neighbor- 
hood, happened, therefore the teacher had missed, 
with regret, his much respected pupil. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A COUNTRY SCHOOL. 

“He early gained the power to pay 
His cheerful, self-reliant way.” 

The district school which Harry attended was a 
mile from his home, and was taught by an under- 
graduate from a neighboring State, who had found his 
way to this obscure neighborhood through the influ- 
ence of Dr. Clive, a distant relative. The Doctor had 
known him from his boyhood, and was interested in his 
struggles for an education. Clive Layton depended 
chiefly upon his own efforts for support and, like 
many others in similar circumstances, during his 
winter vacations he taught a district school in some 
country village, or rural section of a town, to gain the 
means (though a teacher's recompense was small) of 
paying in part his college expenses. • 

He found the school in Jefferson much like those 
of other country towns of that period. It comprised 
about forty pupils, from the age of five years to 
twenty, in various stages of educational qualification, 
scarcely half a dozen of whom could, with advantage, 
be classed together. Arithmetic was the favorite 
branch of study, but each pupil had ‘‘ ciphered " just 
as far as his inclinations or capacities permitted. The 
( 54 ) 


A COUNTRY SCHOOL. 


55 


advanced scholars had been allowed to pursue their 
own course, until some difficulty arrested their prog- 
ress, when the teacher s aid was required, but nothing 
like classification had been attempted. “Spelling*' 
stood next on the list of studies, and was stimulated by 
the practice of spelling matches, “ spelling-schools " 
as they were called. These were held occasionally on 
winter evenings at the school-houses where parents and 
friends attended. Geography and grammar received 
some attention, especially the latter, by the older 
pupils. Writing had not been reduced to a system, and 
each pupil settled his own hand-writing, if the remark- 
able-looking characters could be called such, while read- 
ing, defining words, composition, and history received 
little, if any attention, except reading in the younger 
classes, which consisted merely in being able to pro- 
nounce the words and pause at a comma long enough 
to count one, at a semi-colon, two, at a colon, three, 
and four at a period, with a full cadence. 

So much did the new teacher find out during the 
first day ; but the dispositions and capacities of the 
pupils, and the methods necessary to advance them, 
remained to be learned. There was in the school the 
usual amount of talent and incapacity, of diligence 
and laziness, as can be found in any miscellaneous 
collection of forty or fifty pupils. The school-house, 
a fair example of others in the country at this period, 
was a low, wood building without paint, blinds, or cur- 
tains, and was about thirty square feet on the ground, 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


S6 

with one door opening directly into the room, though 
most others had a small entry with an inner door ; in 
front of the building was a grave-yard Why a school- 
house and a cemetery should be placed near each 
other, has never been discovered. Was it to tone 
down the youthful spirits of the pupils or to tone up 
their moral sentiments, that their wise fathers placed 
a perpetual reminder of their mortality before the 
eyes of their offspring Whichever it might have 
been, it failed of its purpose, for the children did not 
appear to notice the presence of a burying-ground at 
all, unless a misdirected ball chanced to overleap its 
barriers, but the wisdom of the district authorities 
might be called in question on sanitary grounds. 

All the trees had been cut down, as though their 
branches might interrupt the rays of intellectual light 
coming to the young brains. The inside of the build- 
ing was as bare of attractions as the outside. At one 
end was a large fire-place, whose capacity for holding 
fuel was enormous, but whose wide throat carried 
away not only smoke, but also a large share of heat. 
There were two windows on each of the other three 
sides, curtainless, and through which the sun poured 
his rays without “let or hindrance.” Rows of seats 
were arranged around the wall, with desks, or rather 
inclined planes, under which was a shelf for books. 
This was “boxed ” to the floor, and another long seat 
extended around the room, in front of the larger one, 
for the small children. Here they sat on a narrow 


A COUNTRY SCHOOL. 


57 


bench, with an upright board back, during six hours 
of the day. It was fortunate for their spinal columns 
that they could roam the fields and inhale the invig- 
orating air of the hills for a large part of the time, 
since the school year included only about six months, 
equally divided into summer and winter terms. 

On one side of the mammoth fire-place were two 
or three shelves for the outside garments of the pupils, 
while a chair and small table for the teacher’s use 
completed the furniture. There was an empty space 
in the centre of the room for the classes to stand in 
single line during recitation, when questions were 
asked and answers given. 

The ceiling had been plastered, but in some places 
it had cracked, showing dark lines like rivers on a 
map, while in other places it had fallen down, reveal- 
ing yawning chasms. It could not be said that the 
walls were entirely without ornament, since the em- 
bryo Angelos and Raphaels, not wholly “ unknown to 
fame,” had given proofs of latent genius. There 
were some attempts at houses with irregular windows, 
and chimneys resembling the Tower of Pisa ; horses’ 
legs were jointless, while both ears were on the same 
side of the head ; the animals were attached to 
wagons with the centre of gravity in a position rather 
perilous to the driver. Other pupils, more egotistic, 
had displayed their talent for chirography by inscrib- 
ing their names upon the walls or cutting them into 
their desks. 


58 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


The fuel for the use of the school was furnished by, 
the district, each tax-payer contributing his share, to 
be drawn and cut for use. The older boys built the 
fires, each one taking his turn, while the room was 
swept by the girls. 

On the morning of the first day of the term, a large 
number of scholars had assembled at an early hour, to 
discuss matters before the master came. There were 
various opinions expressed as to what ought or ought 
not to be done ; what the teacher’s duties were, and 
what privileges belonged to the scholars. A silent 
spectator would have thought the master should be 
the learner, that the intelligence of the youth was in 
advance of the age, and from the gasconade of the 
more pugnacious, that none but a successful pugilist 
would presume to enter upon so hazardous a contest 
as would be waged against the new teacher. 

“ I say, Henry Walton, what kind of a chap has 
your father hired for our teacher 1 ” 

“Well, Sol Baldwin, I guess he’s awful smart. 
He’s been to college more’n two years, and he can do 
every sum in the ’rithmetic.” 

“ Aint you proud, now, seein’ your father ’s com- 
mittee, an’ hired a college student? I’ll bet he’ll 
learn a few things he had n’t dreamed of,” said Rock 
White. 

Rockwell White, or Rock White, as he was called, 
was the pugilist of the district, and his turbulence 
and quarrelsome disposition had caused trouble to 


A COUNTRY SCHOOL. 


59 

every new teacher for several winters. He prided 
himself upon his power to create a disturbance. 

“ What do you propose to do ? said Alfred White- 
man. 

“ Do ! ” repeated Rock, doubling up his fists and 
flourishing them in pretty close proximity to Alfred's 
face. ‘'I'd like to see the master who’d durst touch 
me ; would n’t I pitch into him ! ” 

“ I think, Rock, you better wait and see what kind 
of a master he will be first. Maybe you’ll like him. 
At any rate, we should not condemn him before we 
have seen him." 

“Pooty well for you, Mr. Justice of the Peace." 
Alfred's father held that office. “ Hiram, don't you 
'spect rousing times this winter.^’’ The latter youth, 
who was “ feeble-minded," was easily persuaded to 
join any stronger character for good or evil ; besides, 
he had the misfortune to have an intemperate father. 

“Now, Rock, I wouldn’t lead him into mischief. 
If you mean to do wrong yourself, be generous and 
let Hiram alone,” said Matilda Baldwin. 

“ O, them nice curls, and that span new gown ! 
Mebbe you'll catch the college dandy.” 

“ Stop, Rock White, don't you insult my sister,” 
interposed Robert Baldwin. 

The insolence of Rock was instantly checked, for 
he feared the flashing eye and compressed lips of the 
youth whose just indignation he did not care to arouse. 

Suddenly all controversy was hushed, and the 


6o 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


excited group took their seats, for Mr. Walton drove 
up to the door with Mr. Layton, the new teacher. 
Having entered the room the committee said, 

‘‘ I have brought you a teacher ; he is a gentleman, 
and expects to be treated as such. He will also regard 
you as ladies and gentlemen, until you prove to him 
that you do not deserve the name. Good morning.'' 

The bold defender of his assumed rights was quiet, 
now that the individual whose authority he had defied 
was present in his official capacity, nor did he dare to 
raise his eyes, as if conscious of his unmanly speech, 
but stealthily took a seat near the door, as if ready to 
escape should his conduct be exposed. 

Mr. Layton spoke a few words to the pupils, appeal- 
ing to their reason and moral sense. He presumed 
they all ctoic to be instructed, and that they honestly 
intended to do the best they could to promote the 
interests of the school ; that they understood nothing 
could be accomplished without order and close appli- 
cation to study ; that in every community each one 
must sacrifice something for the good of the whole ; 
and that he would assist them in gaining such know- 
ledge as would be useful and promote their happiness 
and prosperity. He hoped that teacher and pupils 
would be friends and work together in harmony, and 
he would try to deserve their confidence. 

These timely remarks made a favorable impression 
on the minds of his pupils, some of whom, influenced 
by Rock White, had expected he would threaten them 


A COUNTRY SCHOOL. 


6l 


with “ pains and penalties ” if they did not do, or if 
they did do, many things he would mention in a long 
list of rules and regulations intended expressly to 
interfere with their liberties. That he did not do so 
surprised some, won the admiration of others, and 
silenced those disposed to make mischief. The teacher 
then stated that the duties of his office were responsible 
and sometimes difficult, and that he could not faith- 
fully discharge them without Divine aid, and that they 
also needed the same blessing, therefore he would 
begin the daily tasks by religious exercises, as reading 
the Scriptures and prayer. The scholars had been 
accustomed to ‘‘reading round,” as they termed it, 
each pupil reading one or two verses from the New 
Testament, but Mr. Layton said he would read, and 
they might open their Bibles and follow his reading. 
After this exercise he offered a brief prayer, expressed 
in language all could comprehend. 

These preliminaries being closed, the master said, 
“ My young friends, you may select yoiir own studies 
while I am learning the condition of the school with 
the object of arranging the classes, but before doing 
so, I wish you would name one of the most advanced 
pupils to assist me, as I shall need information on the 
subject.” Robert Baldwin was at once named for the 
office. The scholars were soon apparently busied 
with their lessons, though they kept an eye on all 
that was going on. Baldwin was requested to write 
a list of the names and ages of the pupils, while Mr. 


62 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Layton was examining the text-books and finding out 
what studies each member of the school had pursued. 

At the close of the first day, teacher and pupils 
were on excellent terms ; even Rock ■ White had 
yielded to the general sentiment. Matters progressed 
very favorably ; the scholars and their friends were 
highly gratified with the success of the new methods 
introduced by the teacher. He had aroused a healthy 
ambition, and under his guidance the pupils could 
hardly fail to improve rapidly. By frequent appeals 
to their consciences and self-respect, a higher moral 
tone was created among them which rendered more 
stringent methods unnecessary. 



\ 



CHAPTER VII. 


BOARDING ROUND. 

** When all the droll experience found 
At stranger hearths in boarding round.” 

‘‘ Boarding round ” afforded Mr. Layton aome 
novel experiences. Instead of one boarding place 
the teachers were furnished with acconrmodations in 
different families, with some a week and with others 
a longer time, according to the number of children 
they sent to school. Being introduced into different 
households gave them an opportunity of studying 
character, for to understand a person well, he must be 
seen at his own fireside. The school-days included 
those from Monday morning until Saturday noon, and 
embraced six hours a day with an ‘‘intermission’' of 
one hour at noon. Mr. Layton spent his Sabbaths 
with Mr. Walton whose home was the headquarters 
of the district. He was always welcome there, when- 
ever he found his- situation unpleasant elsewhere. 

“ Mr. Layton,” said the committee when engaging 
his services, “ you are welcome to come to us at any 
and all times, but I should advise you to visit every 
family that invites you, even should you remain only 
one night ; you will gain their good-will by doing so, 
and remove the prejudices against college students.” 
(63) 


64 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


“ I shall certainly do so, and as far as my limited 
experience goes, I have generally found it agreeable 
both to parents and children. At their homes all 
restraints and official dignity are laid aside, and both 
host and guest meet as friends and acquaintances. 
Besides, I know what farmers are, for my father pur- 
sued that occupation, and during my boyhood I worked 
upon a farm.” 

The family of ’Squire Baldwin,” as he was called, 
was the first boarding place, and as he had a number 
of children ancj was considered a well-to-do farmer, 
two weeks was considered the time he ought to 
entertain the master. 

Solomon Baldwin was a plump, jolly, vigorous man, 
past middle life, upon whom the cares of a large farm, 
a numerous family, and an invalid wife sat lightly. 
He. enjoyed his mug of cider, a good story, and a 
boisterous laugh, in which his whole bulky frame par- 
ticipated. His wife was a perfect contrast to her 
husband. Of a slight figure when in health, disease 
had rendered her a mere shadow, so that she seemed 
like a doll beside her burly husband. She was so 
quiet, withal, that had it not been for the cough, a 
premonition of the insidious approach of consumption, 
her presence would scarcely have been suspected. 
The cares of the household devolved upon Aunt 
Ruthy, a sister of the ’Squire, whom she resembled. 

The new master was cordially welcomed to the old- 
fashioned hospitalities of the Baldwins, and during the 


BOARDING ROUND, 


65 


long winter evenings the family gathered in a semi- 
circle around the fire-place where blazed and crackled 
the burning pine and maple logs, one for light, the 
other for heat. In one corner sat the 'Squire in his 
capacious arm-chair, which he filled so completely that 
it would have been difficult for him to see his own 
feet. Opposite to him was his delicate wife, supported 
by cushions and pillows, while^ between them were 
Aunt Ruthy and half a dozen sons and daughters of 
various ages. Placed before the fire was a large mug 
of cider, a tray of apples, and a basket of butternuts 
or beechnuts, for the entertainment of the family- 
The daily or even weekly newspapers were hardly 
known in the farmers’ homes at this period, therefore 
conversation and story-telling took their place. 

‘‘ Boys, whose turn is it to draw the cider to-night } ” 
said their father. 

“ Sol got up last this morning,” said Robert, the 
eldest son. It was a standing joke at the Baldwins’) 
that the latest riser should perform that task, and as 
Solomon was oftenest caught, it was pretty generally 
admitted that he was the laziest. 

‘‘Well, if I did come dow7t last, I did n’t have one 
stocking on the wrong side out. Maybe I should, 
had I gone to singing-school and known that John 
Whitman went home with Lottie Allen.” A certain 
young gentleman did n’t choose to hear the last 
remark. 

“ Come, Nell, go along with me and hold the candle.” 


66 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


‘‘ No, you lazy boy, you may hold your own candle.” 
Nevertheless she went, sister-like It fell to the lot 
of Moses Baldwin to crack the nuts, so he brought 
forward a flat stone used for the purpose and a ham- 
mer. It requires some skill to crack a butternut and 
preserve the meat whole, but this feat was performed 
with nearly every nut. While the party were regaling 
themselves with apples, cider, and nuts, stories were 
told and “the laugh went round.” The 'Squire had 
been a shrewd observer of human nature, and had a 
fund of anecdotes, new to Layton, though the members 
of his own family had heard them for the twentieth 
time, yet every repetition excited the same merriment 
as at first. Aunt Ruthy always said, “ Don't, brother, 
you will kill me,” but brother did not stop, while 
Aunt Ruthy did not die. 

Mr. Layton related stories of his college life and 
also of what he had read, calculated to awaken interest 
and curiosity in his youthful listeners, who regarded 
their new teacher as a person of great wisdom. 

“Yes,” said they, “he wasn't a bit proud.” This 
information was soon circulated throughout the school 
and district, until all agreed it was better to have a 
master who knew something, if he did come from a 
college. They had the idea that a student would be 
unapproachable, on account of his cold and dignified 
manner. 

The next boarding place was at Mr. Cutler’s, whose 
worthy help-mate was reputed the most particular 


BOARDING ROUND. 


67 


housekeeper in town. Everything that could bear 
soap and sand was scoured. Her delight was in 
cleaning, and no paint could secure a foothold on 
floors, walls, doors, or window frames, on account of 
her scrubbing. The kitchen table was as white as 
soap and sand could make it, and even the chairs in 
common use took their weekly bath on washing days, 
which were invariably Mondays, in fair weather or 
foul, sickness or health. The pewter plates not used, 
but kept as heirlooms, the tins, enough to stock a 
peddler's cart, the wooden bowls, trays, pewter and 
silver spoons, pots and kettles, were all subjected to 
the periodical scrubbing and cleaning. The floors 
were scoured so vigorously that it was necessary to 
repair them every few years. Though rugs were 
used, carpets were almost unknown in the rural 
districts. 

Never a fly, spider, or cricket ventured on the 
premises of Mrs. Cutler, save in one instance where 
an impertinent blue-bottle, more audacious than his 
fellows, ventured within this paradise of cleanliness ; 
but he soon came to grief, for the sharp eyes of the 
mistress espied him and, towel in hand, pursued the 
intruder from kitchen to pantry, from pantry to bed- 
room, and from bedroom to attic, until the poor per- 
secuted fly succeeded in making his escape with the 
loss of a part of his wings. By some secret power, 
the thorough housekeeper had brought all the inmates 
of her dwelling into sympathy with her ruling passion. 


68 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


The cat was never allowed to run after her tail for 
fear of “raising a dust,” and was .compelled to eat 
her mouse in the shed; the dog seldom ventured 
inside the door, and then only in pleasant weather, 
and after wiping his feet on the door mat. Even 
the pig kept his pen in better condition than is usual 
with his species. Mr. Cutler’s frock and shoes for 
barn wear were always left in the shed, and the cows 
were brushed and curried with scrupulous care before 
milking, lest a loose hair might fall into the pail. 
The barn floor was swept every day, and people said 
it was often washed. 

Every article of clothing which could be cleansed 
was submitted* to this operation, even the bed quilts, 
originally white, became more so, while some of other 
colors faded entirely by constant bleaching. The 
children, comprising three daughters, an only son 
having died in infancy, were brought up under this 
regime. Polly McClure, the general news depositary, 
said, ''Mis' Cutler killed her boy by too much wash- 
ing. It was n’t the natur’ of boys to be clean ; they 
could n’t stand it like girls,’’ and cited her own child- 
ren as proof of the assertion. Layton found every- 
thing faultlessly clean, but he felt ill at ease, and was 
glad when this term of boarding had expired. 

If the order and neatness at the Cutlers’ gave him 
a feeling of constraint, the want of these qualities at 
the Pages’, his next boarding place, greatly annoyed 
him. 


BOARDING ROUND, 


69 


Caleb Page was a poor man, had always been one, 
and without doubt would die a poor man. He was more 
than this, — he was what Yankees call ‘‘shiftless.” 
He had little energy, and less disposition to work, but 
he had what is sometimes > called a poor man’s bless- 
ing, — children. There were ten, besides a destitute 
orphan boy taken to his humble home out of pity, to 
provide for, with only the assistance of a discouraged 
wife. A small farm, unpaid for, and a large part of 
it not yet redeemed from its primeval state, meagrely 
stocked and scantily provided with farming imple- 
ments, could not, with the most diligent labor, afford 
very liberal support. What, then, could be expected 
of a farmer like Page ? During several months of 
the year the father and his eldest son endeavored to 
gain a meagre livelihood by working for the neigh- 
bors, a day here and a few hours there, as opportunity 
presented, much to the neglect of his own farm. A 
poor unfurnished house, a dilapidated barn, fences 
falling to pieces, weeds and bushes choking the scanty 
crops, denoted the character of the farming. 

Page, however, was a kind man, always ready to 
perform a neighborly act. His acquaintances pitied 
him, though he was to blame for his want of success, 
and they assisted him to finish his haying and gather 
his late crops to save them from, the frost. 

The neighbors were aware that Page would find 
it difficult to provide respectable accommodations for 
boarding the teacher, therefore they sent contribu- 


70 


SOW/ATG AND WAITING. 


tions from their larders and linen closets to supply 
any deficiencies that might exist. Mr. Walton had 
sent a large sparerib, and Mrs. Page was roasting it 
before the open fire when Layton returned from 
school. This operation was performed by tying a 
strong cord to a beam at the top of the unfinished 
room and then attaching the cord to the rib, leaving 
it free to turn, thus presenting each side to the fire, 
while beneath was placed a pan to receive the drip- 
pings. 

The young Pages were the most unruly children of 
the neighborhood, and about as cultivated in manners 
as wild Indians. Neither parent could or did control 
them, but if chidings and threatenings could have 
done it they would have been the most orderly chil- 
dren in the town. The presence of company was 
the hey-day of their enjoyments, when they took 
special pains to display their manners, to the chagrin 
of their parents. As soon as the half dozen children 
returned from school they began their predatory ex- 
cursions in quest of something to satisfy their insatiate 
appetites. They were familiar with every hiding- 
place on the premises, and it was futile to attempt 
eluding their keen search ; all that could be expected 
was to gain time by changing the object of their 
search from one place to another. 

Their mother had' received from one of the neigh- 
bors a panful of doughnuts and supposed she had 
concealed them for supper, but she was deceived, for 


BOARDING ROUND. 


71 

her plan was discovered and a general raid trans- 
ferred them to the stomachs and pockets of the ma- 
rauders, and when Mrs. Page went for her cakes for 
supper, she found only a small plateful. 

One of the boys, generally the ringleader in mis- 
chief, was named Marquis De Lafayette, in honor of 
the distinguished nobleman, his parents supposing 
Marquis to be a name. Supper was finally ready, 
and it was decided that only the two oldest children 
should sit at the table with the rest of the family. 
This was an innovation of the rights of some of the 
other members, and to show proper resentment they 
assembled to a chamber and held a council. This 
apartment extended over all the lower rooms, but was 
unfinished, having a floor of loose boards with wide 
openings between. While the family and their guest 
were at supper, there was a noise of battle overhead 
accompanied by a shower of dust and cobwebs caused 
by racing over the loose floor, led on by the Marquis. 
The parents, at first, took no apparent notice of the 
uproar, hoping by making some concessions to gain 
quietness, but their forbearance only emboldened the 
young rebels, who, looking through the openings in 
the floor, made remarks about the scenes below. 

“ I say, Joe, they U1 eat up all the supper. We 
sha’n’t get a bite,’’ said the Marquis. There goes 
the last piece of pie,'^ responded Joe, his eyes filling 
with tears. Joe Rockway was the orphan, and better 
known for his excellent appetite than for his sense or 


72 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


his activity. Whenever he was sent to a neighbor’s 
house on an errand he always waited until he had 
received something to eat, and often a messenger was 
dispatched to hasten his sluggish pace homeward. 

Mr. Layton supposed there would be a family dis- 
cussion after supper, and excused his absence for a 
few hours on an errand to Mr. Walton’s. The scene 
did occur, though not, precisely as he expected. As 
soon as he had left, Mr. Page ascended where the 
young culprits had collected, and with the view of 
holding a parley, but not to chastise the offenders. 
Understanding his motives, they quickly scattered, 
some making their way down the ladder, others 
climbing into places impossible to be reached, while 
the Marquis, assuming a defiant attitude, backed off 
from the floor where a board was wanting, and fell 
into the kitchen below, when his cries brought the 
whole household to the scene. There was a large 
wound in his cheek, otherwise he was not much 
injured, but the accident made no salutary impression 
on him or his associates. 

“ Well, Mr. Layton, how did you lixe at Page’s ? ” 

“ I hope you will not urge me to give an answer. 
I have been there but a short time. I think, however, 
they are a pretty lively family, using the term in a 
peculiar sense.” 

“I am afraid you will not be comfortable there,” 
said Aunt Jenny. “ You better stay here to-night.” 

“ I am greatly obliged to you for your thoughtful 


BOARDIAG ROUND. 


n 


kindness, Mrs. Walton, but I fear Mrs. Page would 
feel injured if I did not return. I can endure it one 
or two nights, at least.’’ 

‘‘ Let ’s see ! To-night is Thursday. You can pass 
it with them and, perhaps, to-morrow pass the night 
with us. Saturday afternoon there is no school, and 
as you spend the Sabbath with the Doctor, you will 
have a good excuse* for not returning,” said Mr. 
Walton. 

The plan was adopted, and Mr. Layton returned 
to the Pages’ before bedtime and found, much to his 
satisfaction, that all the younger members of the 
family had retired to rest. There were two rooms on 
the ground floor, a large kitchen occupying one side 
of the house and a bedroom the other, with a chimney 
between. There was one large bed, and under it what 
was called a “ trundle bed,” for the younger children. 
Two beds occupied the other room, and one was in 
the chamber. As there were so many to accommo- 
date, there had been considerable planning, changing, 
and dividing to furnish a bed for the teacher alone, 
but it had been brought about by putting an additional 
child into the trundle bed, another in the mother’s, 
and two at the head and two at the foot of another 
bed. 

Mr. Layton slept soundly, except being occasionally 
aroused by noises from the other end of the room, 
sometimes from a stifled titter, and sometimes a. sup- 
pressed sob from an occupant who had been pinched 


74 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


or crowded with too much vigor. At length the two 
days came to an end. Mr. Layton thought he could 
appreciate the blessings of a pleasant home and well- 
behaved children as never before. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


OLD-FASHIONED HOSPITALITY. 

** Her kerchief color’d and her apron check, 

On household cares intent, with many a sigh 
She turns the pancake, and she moulds the pie ; 

Melts into sauces rich the savory fruit ; 

From the crush’d berry strains the lucid jam; 

While still responsive to each mournful moan. 

The saucepan simmers in a softer tone.” 

The quiet, simple, domestic manners which distin- 
guished New England country homes half a century 
ago, are gradually disappearing before the progress 
of modern improvements that have brought city and 
country into closer proximity. The customs and 
fashions of the town are, to a greater or less extent, 
understood and adopted throughout the quiet villages 
of New England ; whether for good or evil, is a ques- 
tion, and it would be well for city-bred people who 
sneer at rustic manners to visit some cf the country 
towns before calling the inhabitants ** rude^’ or barba- 
rous.” It is true they will find verdant hills, lofty 
mountains, dense forests, and other works of nature, 
but not always unpolished manners or ignorance, and 
if there is less conventionalism, there is more sincer- 
ity, simplicity, and cordiality. If the country would 
adopt from the city only what is worthy of imitation, 

( 75 ) 


76 


SOfV/JVG AND WAITING. 


the constant and easy communication between the 
two regions would be productive of good to both, but 
it is to be regretted, that the cities, to some extent, 
entail their vices and follies upon their too susceptible 
neighbors, and while the former gain many advan- 
tages, the latter sustains many injuries, but at the 
same time some desirable advantages. 

The spinning-wheel and loom have been exchanged 
for the piano ; the home-spun garments for the more 
luxurious fabrics of foreign manufacture j the white, 
uncovered floors are now carpeted by either foreign 
or home manufactured coverings; the old-fashioned 
chairs and stools, for sofas, lounges, and easy chairs ; 
the pewter plates, spoons, brown earthen mugs and 
pitchers for silver spoons and knives, china, glass, and 
other more costly wares. Similar changes have been 
made in the articles of food. Modern palates could 
not possibly relish the old-fashioned dishes our grand- 
mothers prepared. Who would think of living on 
brown bread, hasty pudding, beans and pork, or sip 
unsugared Bohea tea ? 

The changes between the past and the present are, 
perhaps, more noticeable in the home education of the 
young. The rigid discipline of our grandparents has 
given place to the more liberal privileges of modern 
youth, and so rapid has been the progress of the pupils 
in domestic education that many of them have far 
surpassed their parents in the difficult art of govern- 
ing, and feel they are fully competent of assuming the 


OLD-FASHIONED HOSPITALITY. 


77 


reins themselves. Some of these innovations may be 
desirable, and to be preferred to the stricter manage- 
ment? of our ancestors, but the question arises. Have 
all these changes added to our virtues and happiness } 
Is that delicate young lady reclining upon the sofa, 
with a sensational novel in her hand, better qualified 
for the duties of wife and mother, than her vigorous 
grandmother who, in her youth, labored at the spin- 
ning-wheel, milked the cows, churned the butter, and 
made cheese } 

Are the sons of New England better fitted at the 
present day for honest and industrious citizens, suc- 
cessful men of business, and patriotic supporters of 
our institutions, by indulging in youthful follies and 
extravagance, casting off all parental authority, and 
indulging in all the excesses of city life long before 
their moral principles are so firmly established as to 
render it safe for them to leave their paternal homes ? 
Many country youth are impatient to forsake the 
quiet homes of their fathers for more exciting scenes 
in the city, some in the pursuit of pleasure, others 
for fame and wealth, but many, alas, end their career 
in crime and ruin. It is a common thing for the 
father of a large family to see one after another of 
his sons, upon whom he had depended for support in 
his old age, forsaking him, even his beloved Benja- 
min leaving him to finish his pilgrimage alone. 

The events of this story occurred half a century 
or more ago, before any marked changes in the man- 


78 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


ners and customs of country life had been made. It 
was true one could perceive their advance, but it was 
gradual, and the inhabitants were slow to adopt 'new 
fashions, preferring those of their ancestors. 

‘‘An old-fashioned fire-place,*’ said an aged grand- 
mother. “ What a crowd of pleasant recollections 
cluster around it ! My recollection carries me back 
to the period of childhood, when parents and chil- 
,dren, brothers and sisters, were grouped around its 
cheerful hearth. How we loved to gaze, by the hour 
together, into the blazing fire, giving the reins to our 
fancy, and trace the pictures of houses, churches, 
trees, men, and animals, constantly springing into 
existence, and then ^disappearing like the dissolving 
views of a stereopticon, or assuming new forms like 
those of a kaleidoscope, until we had thought out 
many little stories from these passing images.” 

An interesting group gathered around the ample 
fire-place of the Waltons on a cold December even- 
ing, a few days before Christmas. The kitchen was 
a large room, lighted by three windows, and it was 
here the family assembled, except when company 
was present. The logs of wood placed upon the 
massive andirons were enveloped in a blaze, and vol- 
umes of smoke and flame went rushing up the chim- 
ney, causing the lid on an iron pot suspended from a 
crane to dance up and down to the music of the 
escaping steam. In front of the fire sat the master 
of the household, with his chair tilted back and his 


OLD-FASHIONED HOSPITALITY. 


79 


hands clasped behind his head, gazing at the scene, 
apparently absorbed in his own reflections. His 
broad shoulders indicated great strength ; his large 
head was partially covered with gray locks that had 
been gathered and tied with a ribbon above his square 
forehead. Every Sabbath morning this braid was un- 
bound, combed, and readjusted by his wife as a duty 
she owed her kind husband. 

Aunt Jenny, with her checked apron and white cap 
and her plump, good-humored face, sat near her 
spouse, with her knitting, for she found employment 
in preparing socks and mittens for her family during 
the long winter evenings. John Walton occupied a 
settee with a high back, and was trying to solve a 
problem in arithmetic which had been proposed to the 
scholars by Mr. Layton. Harry lay stretched beside 
his brother, intently gazing into the fire, or reading 
“ Robinson Crusoe,” while Arthur was playing with 
Lion and Tom, the dog and the cat. These members 
of the household were usually on good terms with one 
another, but sometimes Arthur succeeded in urging 
on the mastiff to transgress the rules of good breeding 
which puss always resented, and as might be expected 
a quarrel ensued. 

The cat and dog had been lying side by side with 
genuine good feeling, until the latter, aroused by 
Arthur's repeated “ Seek him,” began to play so 
roughly with his companion, that Tom felt insulted, 
and bounded to the top of a high chest of drawers, 


8o 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


his back and tail bristling with anger. This only 
stimulated Lion's eagerness, when he sprang forward 
barking vociferously, startling the whole circle from 
the Quaker-like stillness that had reigned for half an 
hour. 

‘‘Down, Lion, down,” said Mr. Walton. “Arthun 
what have you been about } ” 

“ Lion was barking at Tom,” demurely replied the 
young rogue. 

“Yes, but you set him on,” replied his father. 

Quiet was soon restored, and each one was busied 
as before. Mr. Walton resumed his meditations ; Mrs. 
Walton, her knitting; John, his mathematical prob- 
lem; Harry, his “Robinson Crusoe,” while Arthur 
lay on the floor before the fire, to trace out houses, 
trees, animals, and other objects, on the burning coals. 

“Mother,” said Mr. Walton, after another half 
hour's thinking, “the master will be here to board 
next week, and we must invite the Howards to spend 
Christmas with us, that he may know there is one 
educated woman in the district, and a real lady, too.” 

Mrs. Walton understood her husband's humor too 
well to feel piqued at this remark, which was not 
intended for any reflection upon herself, and she had 
the good sense to see and acknowledge that Mrs. 
Howard's education was superior to her own. 

“ I shall be very happy to have them come,” said 
his wife, “and I will try to make them enjoy them- 
selves. They must be very lonesome at the Cottage.” 


OLD-FASHIONED HOSPITALITY. 


8l 


“ O, do have them come,” said Henry and Arthur 
at once, the one throwing down his book, and the 
other jumping up and dancing about the room in high 
orlee. John, the student, was again interrupted, and 
looked up half vexed and half wondering at the 
sudden uproar. 

“ Mother, mother, won’t you make some Christmas 
pies, — one for me, one for Anna, and one for Lillie ? 
Then we ’ll be like 

“ * Little Jackey Horner, sitting in the corner. 

Eating Christmas pie.* ” 

‘‘ I believe the boy is crazy to-night,” said his 
mother. 

“ Only boiling over with a little fun,” replied the 
father, drawing his pet towards him, and inquiring 
which of the Howards he liked best. 

“ Lillie,” was the artless reply. 

“ A pretty pair of rogues you would make. Which 
is your favorite, Henry } Though I need not ask yt u 
that question, since none of us are allowed to do any- 
thing for Mrs. Howard but yourself. I presume you 
will claim the honor of giving the invitation and 
bringing the guests, so you can manage the business 
to suit yourself.” 

Nothing could have pleased the lad better than this 
permission, and he only replied by exhibiting his 
pleasure in his countenance and bearing. He was 
always gratified when any one placed confidence in 
his judgment and fidelity. 


82 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


John, who had taken no part in the conversation, 
kept busy at his task for another half hour, when 
suddenly rising from his corner, he said : — 

‘‘ I ’ve got it ! I Ve got it ! 

“ Got what, my son ? ” 

Why, the answer to my ‘ sum/ I wonder whether 
William Allen has done it. If /le has n’t, I don’t think 
any other scholar has, Mr. Layton said he would 
give us a problem not in the arithmetic when we had 
finished this one. I guess it will be a pretty hard 
one, for he likes to make us work, and I ’m glad of 
it,” 

The next day busy preparations were going on 
at the farm house of the Waltons in the culinary 
department. Meat for pies was “ minced,” apples and 
pumpkins were stewed, and other things were attended 
to which an experienced and skilful housekeeper 
understands. Aunt Jenny, the presiding genius of 
the kitchen, with her neat cap, clean, white apron 
reaching from her chin to the bottom of her gown, 
and with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was busy 
rolling out pastry, while Arthur stood at her side 
asking questions, and examining every article within 
his reach, until he espied a bowl of raisins, which was 
too great a temptation to resist, therefore he helped 
himself liberally, then asked permission to do so. 
His mother, at length wearied by his conduct, raised 
her hand as if to give the culprit a bc-x on the ear, 
when he slipped from beneath her uplifted arm and 


OLD-FASHIONED HOSPITALITY. 83 

glided across the room, saying, ‘‘You can’t catch me, 
mother.” 

Towards evening, Mr. Walton came with the head- 
less bodies of a goose, a turkey, and four plump chick- 
ens, to be dressed for boiling or roasting. “ Mother,” 
a pet name he often gave his wife, “ where shall I 
place these fowls ?” 

“ Leave them in the shed, and after supper you and 
John may dress them, as I have so many other things 
to attend to.” She was just giving the finishing 
touch, with a key, to her mince pies. 

The fire in the large' brick oven had burned down 
to a bed of glowing coals, and Mr. Walton began to 
remove them with a long iron shovel, first crowding 
them to one side of the oven with a stout pSle. When 
the fire had all been removed, the brick floor was 
swept with a wet birch broom to remove the ashes 
before the pies were placed under the arched roof. 
Just as the last one had disappeared, Henry came 
from school, his cheeks glowing with the cold, and 
eagerly inquired when supper' would be ready. “ For 
all the boys are going to have a coast down Butternut 
hill, and I want to be there early.” 

“ Supper will not be ready for some time, my son. 
Is it not best to go and do the chores at Mrs. How- 
ard’s first A look of disappointment passed over 
his countenance, and for a moment he regretted he 
had undertaken to perform these tasks, but he soon 
mastered his selfish feelings and started for Glen 


84 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Cottage with a merry whistle and a sense of pleasure. 
Who could blame a young lad like him, keenly relish- 
ing the sports of boyhood, if he did feel impatient of 
delay, and finish, somewhat hurriedly, his usually well 
performed task? The cow, that evening, did not 
yield her usual quantity of milk, and Fleety did not 
receive her extra currying, but there was little to com- 
plain of, since at other times, every duty had been 
conscientiously performed. Mrs. Howard was some- 
what surprised to see her young friend almost out of 
sight before she had thought of his having finished 
his work. 

Many years ago Christmas was not generally 
observed in New England, and in many of the 
country t5wns the day was not even remembered. 
Mr. Walton’s grandfather emigrated from England, 
and he still retained his attachment to some of the 
English customs ; among these was the observance of 
Christmas, though in his family it could hardly be 
called a holiday, as the regular business was not 
interrupted, and its observance was almost wholly 
confined to extra preparations for dinner, generally 
enlivened by the presence of neighbors as guests. 
Sometimes a large company would be gathered at 
these social entertainments, but on the present occa- 
sion, from respect to the feelings of Mrs. Howard, no 
one except Mr. Layton, Dr. Clive and family, and 
the new minister, Mr. Goodell and wife, was expected 
to be present. 


OLD-FASHIONED HOSPITALITY. 


85 


The Doctor was invited to bring Alice Bradford, 
his niece, and his young daughter as a companion for 
the Howard children. Dr. Clive was early left a 
widower, with an infant daughter whose likeness to 
her mother rendered her very dear to him Lucy was 
at this time six years old, a beautiful but impulsive 
child with a strong will. Though a very fond parent, 
his management of the motherless girl was judicious. 
Her education thus far had almost entirely been 
neglected, but now her parent decided that special 
attention should be given to it. Alice had made 
some attempts to instruct her young cousin, but 
Lucy’s wayward disposition made it impossible for her 
to control the child, and she was left to have her own 
way. The danger to his daughter led her father to. 
take some measures to counteract it, therefore he 
resolved to send her from home if he could find some 
judicious teacher who would assume the responsibility 
of the task. 


CHAPTER IX. 


PREJUDICES YIELDING. 


“ Experience teaches many things, and all men are scholars, 

Yet is he a strange tutor unteaching what he hath taught.” 

All the preparations for company had been com- 
pleted, the two square rooms, called the East and the 
West rooms, were warmed by cheerful fires which had 
been burning since day-light (one of these apartments 
was for adults, the other for children), when Henry 
Walton arrived at an early hour, with a sleigh full of 
■guests from Glen Cottage, covered with cloaks, hoods, 
and shawls, for though the day was pleasant, the cold 
was intense. These human bundles, so carefully 
wrapped, were taken from the sleigh by Mr. Walton, 
and handed over to Aunt Jenny who stood in the 
doorway ready to receive her friends with a warm 
shake of the hand and a welcome greeting. With the 
thoughtful kindness natural to her, she conducted her 
guests into the East room, as Mr. Howard died in the 
other. His widow had never been at the house since 
she left it with the lifeless form of her husband, there- 
fore this occasion was a trying one to her. She had 
anticipated this, and schooled her heart to meet the 
trial, and instead of resigning herself to her inex- 
( 86 ) 


PREJUDICES YIELDING. 


87 


pressible grief, she resolved to perform her social 
duties as well as she could under the circumstances. 

About eleven o'clock Dr. Clive, with Alice and Lucy, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Goodell arrived. The Doctor left his 
companions and went about a mile further, to visit a 
child of one of the neighbors, who was ill with a fever. 

Mr. Goodell had been only *a few weeks in town, 
and this was his first visit to the Waltons, though he 
had been in the neighborhood once before to officiate 
at Mr. Howard’s funeral. On first coming to Jeffer- 
son he became acquainted with Mr. Walton, and 
regarded him with respect for his manly qualities; 
this feeling was reciprocated, and the country parson 
and the country farmer became very firm friends. 

Mrs. Goodell, previous to her marriage, had lived in 
a large town of another State, therefore simple country 
manners and customs were distasteful to her. Mr. 
Goodell had been the pastor of a country church in 
another parish for three years, yet she had not become 
reconciled to the change in her position, from a city 
belle to a country pastor’s wife. She regarded the 
inhabitants of her husband’s parish as wanting in cul- 
ture and refinement, and yielding to these prejudices 
she had kept aloof from society, which prevented her 
from understanding the real character of the people. 
When her husband asked her to accompany him t 
the Waltons she gave a toss to her auburn curls, 
made an impatient gesture with her delicate 
saying, rather pettishly : — 


88 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“ How stupid it will be to spend a whole day with 
these country farmers. I really don’t know what to 
say to them that they can understand. I don’t know 
anything about spinning, weaving, or making butter 
and cheese.” 

“ Would it not be well, my dear, to interest your- 
self in such duties, by inquiring of the farmers’ wives 
how they are done ? As we are to live among them, 
it is our duty to become interested in their pursuits. 
I think you will not find the people as stupid and 
ignorant as you imagine.” 

“ You don’t expect me to turn spinner and dairy- 
woman, do you } But if I must accept every invita- 
tion to visit, I may as well make a business of it and 
think of nothing else, so you may get me a pair of cow- 
hide shoes and a home-made linen dress, so as not 
to surprise your parishioners by any richer fabrics.” 

'' Caroline,” said Mr. Goodell, with a stern, injured 
air, “ when I asked you to accept my hand, did I not 
tell you that your position would be a responsible one, 
requiring great self-denial ? And did you not express 
your willingness to resign your circle of friends,, your 
round of pleasures, and be contented to live in the 
country ? By keeping aloof from the people of my 
flock, you greatly injure mf usefulness, to say nothing 
f your own, and will cause them to forsake us.” 

Mrs. Goodell, though generally indulged in her 
’es, had learned that when her husband decided 
' course to be pursued, she was expected t6 com- 


PREJUDICES YIELDING. 


89 


ply, and in this instance, judging by his compressed 
lips and steady eye, it would not^ be judicious to 
oppose his wishes, so she consented to accompany 
him. During the ride he entertained his wife by 
descriptions of the town, and then of some of the 
inhabitants, including the Waltons and the Howards 
When he mentioned Mrs. Howard as a refined, well- 
educated lady, who had lived on a farm, performed 
her own household duties, and was educating her 
children herself, Mrs. Goodell looked at him with 
incredulous surprise, as if his statements were exag- 
gerated, or that he had mistaken the nature of refine- 
ment. His representations not only stimulated her 
curiosity, but also awakened a spirit of criticism. 
Very different were the feelings of the Waltons 
towards the pastor and his wife, both of whom they 
regarded with kindness, and the minister with rever- 
ence. 

Mrs. Walton’s first care was to attend to the physi- 
cal comfort of her guests, by making her house as 
attractive as possible, and furnishing her table with 
an abundance of nourishing food. That part of the 
entertainment belonged for her to provide, but for the 
intellectual festivity she must depend upon her friends. 
She felt sure that Mrs. Layton and Mrs. Howard would 
do their part, and even her husband could converse 
upon subjects of which she was ignorant. The hostess, 
whose heart was always open to the kindest feelings, 
was never happier than when trying to make others 


QO 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


happy ; her face was smiling and her voice sweet 
and winning. Dressed in a neat but simple manner, 
she appeared on this occasion as the type of a model 
housewife, the ruling spirit of a happy home. 

The snow had been removed from the front yard 
and a path made for the guests ; everything was in 
readiness, even to placing the most comfortable chairs 
before the fire, when Dr. Clive and his party arrived. 
Both the host and hostess advanced to welcome their 
friends, and after giving the Doctor and Mr. Goodell 
a cordial shake of the hand, Mr. Walton, without 
waiting for a formal introduction, offered the same 
reception to Mrs. Goodell, but she drew back a little, 
with something of a stately air, as if unwilling to 
return the greeting, when her husband, noticing the 
act, stepped forward and gave her a formal introduc- 
tion to both Mr. and Mrs. Walton, but the incident 
caused a little constraint upon the parties for some 
time. Mrs. Howard’s self-possession placed her above 
such annoyances, while her lady-like dignity checked 
even Mrs. Goodell’s assumptions. The minister’s 
wife had received every attention from the hostess, 
who assisted her to remove her wraps, and then con- 
ducted her to a comfortable seat by the fire, and 
^placed a soft rug for her feet to rest on. After the 
usual remarks about the weather, and inquiries after 
the health of the family, Mrs. Goodell furtively cast 
her eyes about the room to observe its appearance. 

So far as neatness was concerned, from attic to 


PREJUDICES YIELDING. 


91 


cellar there was nothing to offend the most fastid- 
ious house-keeper ; besides this essential quality, 
there were genuine comfort and cheerfulness. The 
room in which the company assembled was like the 
one opposite, and was furnished in a similar manner. 
They were large, with the walls wainscoated to the 
window seats, but the upper part was covered with 
plaster, though neither painted nor papered. The 
large fire-place was enclosed by an oak frame with a 
mantel-piece on which were placed four bright brass 
candle-sticks, with fresh candles, and beside them a 
tray and snuffers, and a pair of china vases for hold- 
ing paper candle-lighters. Brass andirons, a shovel 
and tongs with brass heads, adorned the hearth and 
jambs. The floor, white as sand could make it, was 
partially covered with rugs of various styles, made by 
Mrs. Walton’s diligent hands. 

In one corner stood a bed like a downy pyramid^ 
ready to smother any one who should have the temerity 
to plunge into its yielding mass, with its snowy sheets, 
pillows, and variegated patchwork quilt, also the work 
of its owner. The four windows were draped in cur- 
tains of white linen, with fringed borders. In another 
place stood a chest of drawers made of solid mahog- 
any, with brass handles on the drawers, and looking 
so ponderous that one would almost as soon think of 
moving a pyramid, as such a piece of furniture, with- 
out assistance. A mahogany table, over which hung 
a looking-glass, ornamented with a gilt spread eagle, a 


92 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


clock with brass balls, common chairs and a rocking- 
chair, completed the furniture of the room. 

There was more to command Mrs. Goodell’s respect 
than to excite her contempt, and before she was aware 
of it, her prejudices began to yield, notwithstanding 
the absence of wall paper and carpets. Still, she 
thought that people who displayed so much mahogany . 
must have seen more of the world than could be 
found in a small country town, and her respect for 
the owners rose accordingly. Mrs. Walton’s father 
had been an independent farmer in the oldest State of 
New England, and had given his only daughter, upon 
her marriage, what was called a “good setting out,’ 
so that few persons in the town to which she removed 
could boast of as much valuable furniture as Jenny 
Walton. Her husband’s father had also assisted his 
son in buying and stocking his farm, so that, having a 
fair start, after twenty-five years of hard labor and 
prudence, he was not only independent, but was con- 
sidered in times when there were no ‘ millionaires ” 
as wealthy. Yet this worthy couple had passed 
through great afflictions, for death had visited their 
home and taken two early blossoms from the family 
circle, though three were left to bless their old age. 

Dinner, which was at other times served precisely 
at twelve o’clock, was deferred half an hour for Mr. 
Layton. The children were watching for John and 
Henry, when Arthur bounded from the room, exclaim- 
ing, “They’ve come. Here ’s Henry ! ’’ Eager and 


PREJUDICES yielding: 


93 


excited he dashed past his brother, to communicate 
the intelligence to his mother, stepping on Lion^s tail, 
which sent the dog howling under the “settle^’ or 
settee. 

Where ’s mother ” was his first inquiry when he 
had recovered his breath. Mrs. Walton had just 
entered the room to receive Mr. Layton, who had 
been so boisterously announced by Arthur. 

“ What ’s the matter, my son ; what has happened } 
“Why, nothing, mother, only Mr. Layton ’s coming, 
and I ran ahead to tell you.” 

“ Is that all } You are a foolish boy to make all 
this stir about what I knew before. Where did you 
leave your company, when you ran away from them ? ” 
“ By the ‘ swelled tree,’ in Day’s Woods. I should 
think they were at Bell Brook by this time, and will 
be here in a few minutes.” 

About ten minutes, however, passed before Mr. 
Layton and John Walton appeared, earnestly engaged 
in solving a question in arithmetic. Finally the whole 
company assembled, and were seated around the table, 
liberally supplied with tempting viands. The con- 
versation, which before had been rather formal and 
reserved, now became easy and natural. Topics of 
general interest, in which all could join, were intro- 
duced, and the dinner hour passed very swiftly and 
pleasantly. Mrs. Goodell’s respect for the guests and 
their entertainers rose still higher. She admired Mrs. 
Walton’s cookery and household arrangements, her 


94 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


common sense and instinctive politeness ; the frank- 
ness and hospitality of Mr. Walton, and the modest, 
respectful behavior of the children. Mrs. Howard’s 
gentleness and intelligence won her esteem, and Mr. 
Layton’s gentle, manly bearing quite fascinated her. 

The children were busy at their play in another 
room, while their elders were served, but after a 
time they became weary and hungry, and began 
to show symptoms of impatience. If this had not 
occurred, their fast might have been prolonged late 
into the afternoon. Lillie, being the youngest and 
less acquainted with social forms, came quietly to her 
mother’s side and said, ‘‘ Me want a piece of pie.” 
Mrs. Howard looked embarrassed and said in a low 
tone, Lillie must be quiet and wait a while.” But 
the importunate little pleader was not to be put off ; 
her repeated request was heard by Mr. Walton, who 
remarked, ** I think we wrong the little ones ; it is 
time that we gave place to them,” at the same time 
rising from the table, a movement in which all joined, 
and their places were supplied by a group of little 
ones. Anna and Lucy, who had become firm friends, 
were placed side by side ; Arthur sat near Lillie, 
while Henry who had acted as master of their sports 
now assisted in doing the honors of a host, and Aunt 
Jenny loaded their plates with twice as much as 
they could eat. The younger portion of the company 
finished their meal in less than half the time required 
by their superiors, since they did not attend to “ a 


PREJUDICES YIELDING. 


95 


feast of reason/' but only to the demands of the appe- 
tite. Mr. Goodell engaged in conversation with Mr. 
Layton, at first, upon the subject of college life, the 
clergyman having graduated at the same institution 
of which his friend was a member. Several anecdotes, 
current among the students, of tricks played upon 
one another, were told with as much zest as if for the 
first time. The conversation of these two gentlemen 
spon attracted other listeners, until the whole com- 
pany became interested and joined in the laugh. 

After some time had been spent in this manner, 
the topics of conversation became more grave. Mr. 
Goodell asked Mr. Layton what profession he intended 
to follow. 

“That of teaching," replied the latter. 

“ And what are your reasons for such a choice } " 

“ Duty and inclination,” replied the student. “ I feel 
my deficiencies, but wish to qualify myself thoroughly 
for my work. There is need of a better educated 
class of teachers for our public schools, and until the 
demand is supplied, we cannot expect to see the 
standard of literary and moral culture in our country 
higher than now. Judging from my limited experi- 
ence, I believe well educated, well disciplined teach- 
ers, especially in the country schools, are scarce." 

‘‘You do not consider it your duty to hide your 
talents in a small district school, for a small salary } " 
said Mr. Goodell. 

“ I do not claim to be so unselfish as that," replied 


96 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


his friend ; “ but I am willing to teach such schools as 
I can get, during my college course, for two reasons : 
first, the small pecuniary assistance which I need to 
carry me through college ; second, the experience I 
may gain ; besides, I hope some good may follow my 
humble efforts. If I succeed in my calling, I expect 
to secure a permanent situation in a school of a 
higher grade.*’ 

“Your motives are highly commendable, but. I 
confess that the profession has few charms for me, 
and when obliged to assume its duties during my 
college vacations I did so from necessity alone, and 
not from any love for the work.” 

Turning to Mrs. Howard, who sat near to him, Mr. 
Layton said : — 

“My young friend, Henry Walton, informs me that 
you have been a teacher, or, rather, that you are now, 
since you instruct your own children. We should 
like your opinion on the subject.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Layton. I have acted in that 
capacity, and found the employment a pleasant one.” 

“And very successful too,” said Dr. Clive, “judging 
from the pupils playing yonder. That oldest one of 
yours has been relating stories from ‘ Pilgrim’s Prog- 
ress * to my little Ignoramus who, I believe, regards 
your child as the Goddess of Wisdom.” 

“You must ascribe that habit of Anna’s to cir- 
cumstances, rather than to any superior talent in the 
child or her teacher,” said the mother. “ We have 


PREJUDICES YIELDING. 


97 


lived so retired that almost her only companions have 
been those of her own family, consequently she 
appears older than most children of her age. This 
is a circumstance I regret, and wish she had the 
opportunity of associating more with younger per- 
sons.” This remark encouraged the Doctor to ask 
Mrs. Howard to admit Lucy as a pupil into her 
family, and he only waited .for a convenient opportu- 
nity to make known his plan. 

Mrs. Howard made some inquiries of Mr. Layton 
regarding his school, whether it was pleasant, and 
what encouragement he met with. 

** I am happy in my work, but regret the absence 
of any well-arranged system. I have endeavored to 
introduce something of the kind, but the term is so 
short I cannot expect to see any great result ; I hope, 
however, to raise a higher public sentiment in the 
school, and awaken a love of study.” 

Have you a pupil by the name of John McClure } ” 
inquired Dr. Clive. 

Yes, the boys call him ‘ Curly Jack,’ on account 
of a profusion of black curly hair, I presume. He 
is a bright boy, and shows a very eager desire for 
knowledge.” 

“ He is the brother of a little patient of mine, and 
seems so much interested in his books and his school 
that I have great hopes of him. He thinks Master 
Layton is the perfection of pedagogues, and I dare 
say he would go to the stake for him.” 


98 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


I am happy to know I have so ardent a friend, and 
hope I shall deserve such devotion.” 

The name McClure attracted Mrs Walton’s atten- 
tion, and she inquired for the little invalid, who had 
almost been forgotten in her family cares. The 
Doctor said, “The little fellow is very ill, but if he 
had proper care, and the ordinary comforts of a sick 
room, I believe he might be spared, but his mother 
does not know what is proper for a sick child, and I 
fear her indiscreet management will render all my 
efforts useless. I should think the family is destitute 
of the comforts, if not the necessaries of life.” 

“ Wife, how is this.^ Have you been to see the 
child ? ” said Mr. Walton. 

“ Other cares have prevented me from visiting the 
family, but I will go to-morrow and carry them some- 
thing for their comfort.” 

Mrs. Howard offered to accompany her to the 
McClures, and the offer was accepted, therefore it 
was arranged that Henry should drive the ladies there 
the next day, as the sleighing had become easy. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE McClures. 

** All kinds of arts are practised, bad and good, 

All kinds of ways to gain a livelihood.** 

The next morning, after her own household duties 
had been performed, Aunt Jenny filled a large basket 
with a variety of substantial food for the well ones, 
and delicacies for the invalid, then tied up a bundle of 
clothing and bed linen, so necessary for the comfort 
of the sick. She then told Henry to take old Pete 
and bring Mrs. Howard, and by that time she should 
be ready. 

Mrs. Walton’s religion was one of deeds as well as 
words, though she did not think lightly of the forms 
and institutions of Christianity, for she cherished 
them with reverence and was careful in their observ- 
ance, but like its great Founder, she manifested her 
principles in her actions. It was only for her to know 
that a kind word or a charitable deed was needed, and 
the word or the deed was quickly bestowed. Her 
benevolence was the outcome of firm Christian prin- 
ciples engrafted upon a naturally kind and genial 
nature. 

Henry brought out the best sleigh, which was 
painted red and yellow, with an imposing dasher, and 
LofC. (99) 


lOO 


SOWING AND WAJTING. 


put on old Pete the silver-mounted harness, used for 
Sunday, and a string of a dozen fine-toned bells, and 
with the best whip and buffalo robes, prepared to take 
his mother and Mrs. Howard to the McClures. Mrs. 
Walton, on seeing the preparations he had made, said, 
My so.n, why did you take the best sleigh and 
harness 1 We are only going to call upon a neighbor 
who will not mind how we come.” 

. Because I did n’t want to go in the old ‘ cutter.’ ” 
Why not You ride in it almost every day.” 

“ Yes, mother, but Mrs. Howard is going with us 
to-day, and I should like to appear respectable.” 

“The boy is right,” said his father, who had been 
listening to the colloquy between him and his mother. 
“ Always take the best when you wait upon the ladies.” 

Pete, sharing his young master’s pride, did his 
best to display some of his antics, and trotted away 
very gingerly, with a few affected starts at a stump 
or rock by the way, tossing his head at regular 
moments, which greatly increased the music of the 
bells. 

The dwelling of John McClure was about one mile 
and a half from Walton’s, at the foot of a low moun- 
tain range covered with a dense forest, extending to 
the very edge of a little potato patch in the rear of 
the house. The small clearing made in this thick 
wood several years before had widened very gradually, 
until a little farm had been cleared of its standing 
timber, but further improvements had scarcely been 


THE McClures. 


lOl 


attempted, since the occupant was too indolent to 
improve the land by much cultivation. A rude cabin 
had been built, which served as a shelter for his rapidly 
increasing family, without any regard to comfort, 
beyond what was absolutely necessary for the protec- 
tion of the inmates. Here the family had lived, or 
rather burrowed, for more than a dozen years. A 
little patch of potatoes, an acre of stunted corn, a 
field of half matured rye, some withered garden vege- 
tables, constituted the principal harvest of a farm 
naturally productive, and easily cultivated ; but after 
sowing and planting everything was left to Nature, 
and she was slow to encourage the indolent by be- 
stowing a rich harvest. The consequence was, the 
products of the farm were ’ insufficient to support a 
large family, but the deficiency was partly met by the 
adroit management of Polly McClure, who was known 
throughout the town for the skill and success of her 
begging expeditions. 

While her husband was dozing on a fine day she 
would take her infant, for she always had one, and 
begin her pedestrian tour of begging, sometimes 
walking seven or eight miles in the hot sun, but usu- 
ally returning with a good supply of clothing, tea, 
sugar, and butter, besides other articles of food, when 
she would supply a feast for her family as long as her 
stores lasted, and then followed another diet of pota- 
toes, corn-cake and rye coffee without sugar. 

The household arrangements of the McClures were 


102 


SOmNG AND IVAITING. 


in keeping with their farming system, and the inside 
of their hovel displayed the same indifference to com- 
fort and cleanliness as the exterior. The premises 
about the house, usually called the “door yard,” 
though not inclosed either by a wall or fence, were 
encumbered with chips, straggling branches of 
scraggy brushwood, decayed stumps of trees, pine 
knots, pieces of hemlock bark, and other combusti- 
bles, the most easily obtained, for a good snug wood- 
pile was never seen at the door of John McClure, and 
in matter of fuel, as in food, he lived “ from hand to 
mouth.” During summer, instead of flowers and 
shrubbery, the door-yard exhibited clusters of thistles, 
solitary stalks of mullen, with here and there a spon- 
taneous sunflower of rank growth, while the inmates 
within, and those animals living without, were pretty 
much on an equality. Children, pigs, calves, dogs, 
hens, and ducks burrowed promiscuously together on 
this debatable ground, and even the house was acces- 
sible to most of them during the day, and though the 
door was closed at night, some of the fowls secured 
an early roost on positions inside, such as the beams, 
secure from Reynard’s night attacks. When these 
feathered creatures had once taken possession, they 
were left unmolested, and whether from gratitude 
for such favors, or fear of their superiors, they never 
practised early cock-crowing. 

As soon as Henry, with his party, came near the 
McClures, they saw half a dozen or more heads in 


THE McClures. 


103 


and about the doorway; but as soon as the sleigh 
drove up to the house, every child disappeared like a 
flock of chickens, when the parent hen sounds the 
note of alarm. Visitors were seldom seen at their 
home, hence the sudden flight ; but as soon as the 
panic was over, they began to emerge from their hid- 
ing-places, eager to see and hear all that was done 
or said. They surrounded the visitors, and even the 
more bold of the group ventured to take hold of 
their shawls, make remarks about their dress, mimic 
their gestures, and otherwise show their want of 
proper training. Not the wild Indians on the prairies 
could have surpassed these children in rudeness of 
manners. 

The ladies were met at the door by the mother of 
the family : — 

‘‘ Lor* me, here’s Miss Walton. I’m proper glad 
to see you. Do tell, if here ain’t Mis' Howard, too. 
Poor thing, her heart’s a’most broke for her good 
man. Dear soul, it was the awfullest thing we ever 
knowed in our town.” 

Mrs. Walton stopped her ill-timed reflections by 
inquiring after her own family, to which she replied 
with her usual garrulity, for Polly McClure’s vocabu- 
lary was never stinted : — 

“Jimmy’s pooty bad off, poor fellow, though the 
doctor thinks he’s better. Here, Mis' Howard, take 
a chair,” offering a broken one which appeared hardly 
able to support the slight form of Mrs. Howard, at 


104 


SOWING AND WAIVING. 


the same time wiping the dust from the seat with 
her apron ; while Aunt Jenny, who was better known 
in the family, was left to find a more substantial seat 
on a bench. .A bed stood in one corner of the room 
that served more purposes than for sleeping. Here 
the father and half a dozen heads which had so 
mysteriously disappeared were seen huddled together. 
Some of their owners were barefoot, others wore tat- 
tered garments, and all were with uncombed hair and 
unwashed faces. 

** How are you, Mr. McClure?'’ inquired Mrs. 
Howard. 

“ Well, marm,” was the blunt reply. 

“How are you, Betsey ? ” addressing the oldest of 
the group. 

She did not venture to reply, but cast a furtive 
glance at the speaker, and then hid her face behind 
Curly Jack. 

“ Sit up and speak to Mis* Howard. That ’s 
Anna’s mother what give ye the pooty bunnet ye 
wore to school. There, don’t act so, she’ll never 
come to see ye agin. Hope you ’ll think nothin’ on ’t, 
marm, Betsey’s so pesky bashful, she ’ll never speak 
to a stranger.” 

“ O, never mind,” said Mrs. Howard. “ Girls of her 
age are inclined to bashfulness, which is better than 
being too bold.” 

While Mrs. Howard was conversing with Mrs. 
McClure and the children, Mrs. Walton approached 


THE MCCLURES. 


IDS 


the cradle in which the little sufferer lay. He was 
panting for fresh air, nearly smothered under a quilt, 
and wrapped in a coarse woolen garment that had 
never been washed. The atmosphere of the room was 
stifled and impure, which greatly increased the child’s 
sufferings. There were no windows of glass in the 
house, light being admitted by the door and small 
windows made of oiled paper, which could not be 
opened. One door of the apartment, of which there 
were two, had been divided into upper and lower 
parts, so when the weather was suitable, the upper one 
could be thrown open, thus affording the purpose of a 
window, while the lower part afforded a safe barrier 
against the intrusion of the domestic animals, and the 
escape of the children too young to care for them- 
selves. 

Mrs. Walton, believing fresh air would relieve the 
poor sufferer, opened the door a little at first, and plac- 
ing the cradle in a favorable position, soon perceived 
a change in the child's respiration. He appeared to be 
sleeping but soon opened his eyes and extended his 
hands to be taken from his bed, when Aunt Jenny 
decided to try the effect of cleanliness, and closing 
the door, prepared some warm water, and with a clean 
towel she had brought with her, she gently raised the 
child, bathed him, and then dressed him in clean gar- 
ments, and laid him in Mrs. Howard's arms, while she 
was arranging his uncomfortable bed. The cradle 
was divested of its unwholesome clothes, fitted up 


io6 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


with a soft pillow and clean coverings, and little 
Jimmy was placed in it so changed as hardly to be 
recognized. He looked up and smiled as if grateful 
for his tender care and improved condition. 

While these operations were going on the mother 
stood by and seemed astonished that fresh air and 
cleanliness were beneficial to health ; indeed, as to 
the latter, she had supposed there was no lack, and 
at every sign of improvement, she would exclaim : 

Lor* me, du tell ; d’ ye ever see,** and said she 
believed ‘‘Jim would git well right off,*’ and that she 
should be “ forever obleeged to the ladies for fetching 
them so many good things.” 

After giving her store of provisions for the family 
and some directions about the invalid, Mrs. Walton, 
with Mrs. Howard, left, promising to return and 
remain with Jimmy that night. As soon as the 
visitors were gone the group on the bed found use for 
their limbs and tongues, and began to clamor for the 
food left by Mrs. Walton. 

“You shan’t have any now,” shouted the mother 
above the clatter of half a dozen voices. 

“I will, too,” said one; “I’m half starved,” said 
another, while a third got hold of the basket and 
helped himself. 

“ See Tom, he *s eating up all the victuals,” said 
Betsey, at the same time her hand was reaching out 
to share the plunder. 

Their mother, finding words ineffectual, gave a 


THE McC LURES, 


107 


Stunning box on the ear of each disputant, which 
sent them shrieking to the other part of the room. 
Finally, the contest becoming somewhat doubtful, 
between one parent and half a dozen hungry children, 
and the fear of losing his share of the spoils, which 
was generally the lion's share, the hitherto silent 
father, raising his voice, said, ‘‘ Hush, every brat of 
you, or I ’ll flog you out of the house.” 

There was no resisting that command, for they had 
one and all suffered the effects of their father’s temper 
when aroused, and to incur his displeasure was not 
desirable, therefore nothing more was necessary to 
quell the insurrection. The repast was soon ready, 
which restored quietness to the family for the remain- 
der of the day, and the invalid was allowed to rest 
quietly, while the judicious care of Aunt Jenny 
through the night wrought such a change in him, 
that Dr. Clive, on his visit the next day, pronounced 
his patient decidedly better, and beyond danger. 


CHAPTER XI. 


PHANTOMS. 


“ Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 

And like phantoms grim and tall, 
Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall; 

Then the forms of the departed 
Enter at the open door; 

The beloved, the true-hearted. 

Come to visit me once more; 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 

By the road-side, fell and perished. 

Weary with the march of life.” 


It was Sabbath evening, a precious time, when 
friends of congenial sympathies love to meet, and 
when hearts united are more' closely bound in tender 
love by the holy calm of that hallowed day of rest, 
fit emblem of the eternal Sabbath of heaven. Supper 
at Glen Cottage had been finished ; the little ones had 
been tenderly laid to rest, and Mrs. Howard returned 
to her customary seat by the bright fire, near which 
was the little table with the Bible and a few other 
books. She took up a volume and began to read. It 
happened to be *‘The Saints' Rest." While her eyes 
(loS) 


PHANTOMS. 


109 


perceived the form of the words, to her mental vision 
they were blank. She turned the leaves unconsciously 
until gradually she lost all sense of the meaning of 
the words, and surrounding objects had no power 
over her sight or hearing. Her thoughts were of the 
past, and she listened to hear the familiar footsteps 
returning from the circle of daily duties to the peace- 
ful home of his loved ones. 

Mrs. Howard observed the arm-chair and beside it 
the evening slippers, while on the wall hung the hat 
and coat which had never been removed since last 
worn. An overpowering sense of the presence of 
the lost one came to her, which caused her to listen 
for the well-known voice and its cordial greeting, 
when her heart beat at the return of the absent one, 
as formerly. All the incidents of the day came rusb 
ing from the storehouse of her memory to be related 
for his approval and sympathy, and her burdens to be 
borne by his firm strength, her aspirations to be 
encouraged, her fidelity to be rewarded, while at the 
same time she was always ready to listen to his 
account of hopes blasted or victories won. 

These evening hours had been the sweetest of 
Paulina Howard's married life, and in a few brief 
moments she lived years, forgetting the present, but 
sadly the illusion was dispelled, and the recent sad 
events of her life were brought to her memory and 
a thrill of anguish pierced her soul. Her distress 
increased until she was led to exclaim, ‘‘ My God, 


no 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


why hast Thou forsaken me ? She rose and walked 
the room until tears came to her relief. Who has 
not felt the solace of tears, when the heart seemed 
bursting with inexpressible emotions ? They may 
have preserved the reason to many afflicted minds 
agonized by the troubles of life. The flood-gates of 
her heart had been opened, and her tears continued 
to flow until gradually she regained her composure 
and found comfort at the Cross, and, though afflicted, 
she was submissive, and said, “ Not my will but thine 
be done.'' 

Suffering has an important mission in this life, 
and no character is perfected without it. If allowed 
to fulfil its Divine purpose it refines, purifies, and 
ennobles the character, and teaches one to know him- 
self and estimate earthly objects according to their real 
value, while it reveals the moral and spiritual life better 
than worldly prosperity can. Many characters, othen 
wise excellent, have failed to gain a noble career, for 
the want of the discipline of suffering. Such thoughts 
came to the relief of Paulina Howard and afforded 
her consolation. 

Her neighbors, after her great affliction, were very 
kind and offered their services for whatever she 
might need them, but she had written to her young- 
est brother and invited him to make her a visit, 
which he promised to do in a few weeks. Relying 
upon his advice in regard to her business affairs, 
she waited until he should come before making any 


PHANTOMS. 


I I I 


changes. A second letter stated that he was obliged 
to postpone his visit a little while longer, but when 
he came he would bring their youngest sister to spend 
the summer with her. This cheerful news encour- 
aged Mrs. Howard who resumed her customary duties 
quietly waiting the arrival of her beloved friends. 

Fanny Sherwood was the youngest of a large fam- 
ily and the pet of all the other members ; she was 
especially dear to her sister Paulina, from whom she 
had received almost a mother’s care during her early 
childhood. Their father died some years before, and 
their mother, who still survived, lived with the young- 
est son at the homestead. All the family, except 
Fanny, had married and settled in different places, 
and, though widely separated, they still communicated 
with one another by letters and occasional visits. 
These practices kept alive and in vigorous exercise 
fraternal and filial feelings. To be separated from 
her relatives had been to Paulina Howard the severest 
trial of her life until the loss of her husband, there- 
fore the hope of seeing her beloved sister gave her 
great pleasure, and her children could talk of nothing 
else but Uncle William and Aunt Fanny. 

The domestic cares of the household engrossed 
the thoughts of Mrs. Howard during the day, but 
after her family had retired to rest, and she was left 
alone, she was inclined to yield to the influence of 
gloomy thoughts. Therefore, after some reflection 
upon the subject, she decided to arrange a system for 


II2 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


the education of her children. She had read various 
works on the subject, and as she thought about it she 
was more impressed with its importance, and the field 
was much broader than she at first supposed. 

Her plan was successful in its operation. 


CHAPTER XII. 


A NEW PUPIL. 


“ Out of the midst of childhood, 
Steeped in a golden glory, 
Came dreamy forms and faces, 
Snatches of song and story.” 


When Dr. Clive once started on any new scheme he 
did not usually leave it until it was squarely settled. 
All the minutiae were arranged by line and plummet, 
the pros and cons fairly weighed, the probabilities for 
success or failure duly measured, while passion and 
interest were made subservient to reason ; hence he 
made mistakes less frequently than most persons. 
He had gone through the same process in regard to 
placing his motherless daughter Lucy under Mrs. 
Howard's care, and the result of the problem, when 
solved, was that it would be best both for the child 
and the Howards, 

Having arranged everything to his satisfaction, the 
Doctor made it in his way to call at the Cottage 
during one of his professional visits to the neighbor- 
hood. 

‘‘ Mamma, here *is Dr. Clive,” said Anna, as he 
drove up to the door 


SOlVmG AND WAITING. 


II4 

‘‘Has he fetched my papa?” inquired Lillie, who 
associated her father’s death with the Doctor. 

“No, darling,” answered her mother, “Papa cannot 
come back to us ; we shall go to him by and by.” 

The Doctor made sure his horse, and then entered 
the door opened for him. 

“ Good morning, Mrs. Howard. How are all the 
little ones to-day ? ” 

“They are all very well, thank you. Take a seat, 
Doctor,” placing a chair before the fire. “ A pleasant 
day.” 

“Very,” was the Doctor’s laconic reply. 

With his accustomed deliberation, as if afraid of 
disturbing a nervous patient, he removed his outer 
garments — mittens, tippet, and coat — then occupied 
the proffered seat, held his hands to the fire, rubbed 
them, then warmed them again, looking very thought- 
ful during these operations. 

The children stood by wondering what he would do 
next. Lillie, who was less timid than the others, drew 
closer to the Doctor, and placing her little hand upon 
his knee, and looking anxiously into his face, said, 
“ Where is my papa ? ” 

The Doctor was aroused from his silence by the 
voice, and looking tenderly upon his young questioner, 
placed her upon his knee, and gently stroking her 
head, replied : — 

“Lillie’s papa has gone to a beautiful city.” 

“ Booful thity,” said the child. 


A NEW PUPIL. 


IIS 

“ Would you like to ride in my sleigh ? O, here is 
Anna/* recognizing her presence for the first time. 
‘‘ Come here and sit on the other knee. There, now 
we will ‘ trot, trot to Boston.* ** 

Lillie forget her question in her merriment, laughed 
and chatted with her new friend, while Anna, feeling 
herself too old to sit on the Doctor*s knee, hung her 
head in maidenly bashfulness, and as soon as a con- 
venient opportunity was presented, slid from her seat 
and glided to the window to watch the sky, the trees, 
or anything that might interest her. 

Turning to Mrs. Howard the Doctor inquired, 
‘‘ How is Willie.?** 

“ He can answer for himself,*’ said his mother, 
taking him from his cradle. 

‘‘ Fine boy ! He does credit to his careful mother. 
How do you manage to keep these little ones so quiet 
and orderly .? My Rattlebrains would turn the house 
topsy-turvy before an hour, once give her the liberty.** 
“ My children,** said Mrs. Howard, “ are not always 
as quiet as you now see them. They have their times 
of noise and ill-humor pretty much as others have.** 
When once the ice was broken, the Doctor came 
abruptly to the subject which had occupied his 
thoughts. He said, I have a plan to propose, sug- 
gested by a remark made at Walton’s.” He then 
detailed his scheme of placing his daughter Lucy 
under her charge, to be instructed with her own chil- 
dren, and expressed the urgent desire that she would 


Il6 SOWING AND WAITING. 

think favorably of the plan, but would wait for an 
answer after she had considered it. 

Put on the girls* cloaks and let me give them a 
ride to McClure’s, and in the meantime you can think 
of my plan and let me know your decision when we 
return.” 

The ‘‘ little pitchers ” caught the intimation for a 
ride and were soon on the alert in getting ready. 

“ Lillie may ride in the middle,” said Anna, “’cause 
she’s a little girl,” remembering her own position on 
the Doctor’s knee and fearing it might be repeated. 
The child had always regarded the Doctor with awe, 
as he had been the family physician ever since her 
recollection, and associated him with the mysterious 
power of life and death, and no other individual, 
except the minister, was regarded with such reveren- 
tial fear. It would have shocked her sensibilities if 
any one had even hinted that both were not perfect 
in their different callings. Her reverence was too 
profound to allow her to approach either with that 
confiding love she rendered her mother. 

During the absence of the children Mrs. Howard 
was revolving in her own mind the Doctor’s plan. 
She felt it was a great responsibility ; that she might 
not succeed with Lucy as she had with her own 
children ; whether she could meet the expectations of 
Lucy’s friends, or what might be the influence the 
child’s example would have upon her own daughters. 
On the other hand, she might prove a suitable com- 


A NEW PUPIL. 


II7 

panion, and they needed, especially Anna, young 
associates ; besides, the compensation would add to 
her slender means to educate her family; and, finally, 
it would divert her own mind from the dreadful blow 
that had fallen upon her. Looking at the subject in 
its different bearings, she concluded to try the plan 
for a time with the understanding that if all parties 
were not satisfied, Lucy should return to her home. 

This arrangement was finally carried into effect, 
and the little motherless stranger was duly settled in 
her new home at Glen Cottage. Her father had 
brought her in the early part of the day that she might 
have an opportunity of becoming used to the change 
before night, the time for homesickness. Lucy was 
quite contented until the shades of evening began to 
gather, when she became thoughtful, and called to 
mind her papa, cousin Alice, her ‘‘bonny white kit- 
ten,” her little bed-room close to her father s, and 
began to cry. Mrs. Howard had expected this, and 
tried to soothe the child ; Anna and Lillie also offered 
their sympathy. 

“ I want to go home ; I want to see. my papa,” per- 
sisted the child. 

“ You cannot go home to-night, Lucy,” said Mrs. 
Howard, “you must stay with Anna and Lillie, and 
after supper we will have some plays.” 

“ I will go home now ; I must see my papa ; I don’t 
want to play.” 

“Your papa will come to see you, by and by.” 


Il8 SOWING AND WAITING, 

“ No, he won't ; I am going home now," at the same 
time rushing to the door, but she could not open it, 
and began to kick it most vigorously, at the same 
time calling loudly for some one to open it. Finally, 
as her efforts and demands were fruitless, she threw 
herself upon the floor kicking and striking her head 
against it, as if determined to make an end of her 
miseries. Argument was useless, and Mrs. Howard 
thought it best to allow her anger to exhaust itself 
without her interference. The children looked on 
with wonder and pity, while Lillie, whose sympathy 
was easily awakened, began to cry, saying, ‘‘ Poor 
Lucy, who hurt you ? " This uproar awoke the baby, 
and Willie added his voice to the deafening chorus. 

The perplexed mother was in doubt what to do; but 
was compelled to attend to her infant while Anna 
succeeded in diverting Lillie's attention, and by the 
time the baby was quieted, Lucy had exhausted her 
powers, and waited for some one to coax her to rise 
from the floor, as she had been accustomed to do ; but 
seeing no one was disposed to notice her, she arose 
and stood by Mrs. Howard, while she was undressing 
the baby for the night. She began to tell Lucy 
stories for the purpose of diverting her mind, when 
the child forgot her troubles, and quietness was 
restored. After supper, the children began their 
sports, in which their mother joined, much to Lucy's 
delight, when the half hour thus spent effaced all 
traces of the storm which had been raging. When 


A NEW PUPIL, 


II9 

the time for evening devotion came, Mrs. Howard 
took the opportunity to impress some instructive les- 
sons upon the minds of the children about the control 
of their tempers, the sin and danger of giving way to 
anger, and the duty of respecting the rights of others. 

Lucy said she was very sorry for her naughty actions, 
and promised to be a better girl. Mrs. Howard, of 
course, did not suppose there would be no repetition 
of similar scenes, but she hoped by firmness and 
kindness in her management to teach the child to 
control her quick temper. For some time she gave 
her leisure moments to the entertainment of the 
children, on Lucy's account, until she became accus- 
tomed to her new home. She found her pupil affec- 
tionate, impulsive, thoughtless and self-willed ; some 
of her faults were the result of a want of early train- 
ing. She was, however, of quick apprehension, and 
could easily learn her lessons if compelled to do so, 
but her education had almost entirely been neglected. 
She could read a few simple sentences by spelling the 
words ; that was the extent of her knowledge of 
reading, while counting one hundred comprised all 
her knowledge of mathematics. She had never been 
taught to sew but had acquired a slight knowledge of 
the art by her own efforts, though her work, usually 
prepared for her doll, was gathered in one place and 
stretched in another to make the ends meet. She had 
never been assigned a task either in sewing or study, 
and until she came under Mrs. Howard’s care she 


120 


SOIVING AND WAITING. 


had done just as she pleased, hence she had no con- 
ception of what application meant. Her teacher 
expected difficulties in trying to correct the child’s 
faults, but she relied much upon the affectionate 
disposition of her pupil and Anna’s example. The 
difference between the ages of the two girls was far 
less than in their attainments. 

Mrs. Howard’s policy was to make study or the 
acquisition of knowledge a pleasure to her pupils, 
and in the case of her own children, there was so 
little to occupy their attention, they were ready to 
listen to instruction ; and to prevent Anna from 
studying it would have been necessary to remove.all 
books from her reach, but her mother judiciously 
allowed her to follow her inclinations, so long as it 
did not injure her. 

Lillie had been considered too young to receive 
regular lessons, but she had gathered not a few ideas 
during her sister’s recitations, though apparently 
absorbed with her doll or kitten ; after Lucy joined 
the family her mother considered it best for her to be 
taught with the others. The plan suited the child, 
who talked constantly of going ** to tool,” then she 
would be a big dirl.” 

Lucy soon began to show that she had been a 
petted child, and had exercised absolute sway in the 
nursery. The gray kitten had been the special favor- 
ite, companion, confidant, and pupil of Lillie, and 
every one had tacitly conceded her right to ownership. 


A NEW PUPIL. 


I2I 


but now another claimant appeared in the person of 
the new comer. At first, Lillie was persuaded to yield 
her rights because her rival was a stranger, but after a 
while she refused to do this, and then a contest ensued 
in which both claimants held on to the coveted prize, 
until poor kitty, not liking to be pulled to pieces, 
broke from their grasp and scampered off, but in 
struggling to get away she scratched Lucy's hand. 
This aroused the child’s temper both against the 
kitten and her mistress, but as pussy was beyond her 
reach, she inflicted a blow upon Lillie, an outrage she 
resented and she began to scream. This brought the 
mother to the scene. 

What is the matter^ my children } ” 

Both began in an excited manner to represent their 
grievances. 

“ The kitten scratched me,” said Lucy, holding up 
her bleeding hand. 

“ And what ails my Lillie } ” 

‘‘ Looty truck me,” sobbed the child. 

“ Come here, and let me see about your troubles,” 
said Mrs. Howard, taking a seat and drawing the 
children to her side. Lucy, did you have the 
kitten ? ” 

Lillie had her, and I wanted her.” 

“ My kitty,” insisted Lilly. 

Then you both wanted kitty, and she ran away in 
the quarrel. Kitty did n’t like to be pulled, so she 
scratched you. But why did you strike Lillie } ” 


122 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“'Cause she made kitty scratch me,” said Lucy, 
her black eyes snapping in her excitement. 

“ I 'm very sorry you should quarrel. You ought to 
love each other. It is naughty to strike any one 
when you are angry.” 

“Lillie should n’t get the kitten.” 

Mrs. Howard saw it was useless to say anything 
more about the matter until Lucy was in a better 
mood, so she applied a vsoothing remedy to her hand 
and bound it up, then gave her attention to Lillie, 
who had seated herself on the floor and was sobbing 
as if her heart would break. She had never been 
struck by a playmate until now, and she could not 
easily forget her wrongs. Before the children retired 
to rest Mrs. Howard called Lucy to her side and 
kindly told her if she indulged in angry feelings, 
which would lead her to do wrong acts, she must be 
punished. This kind of discipline was new to the 
child, and she wondered what would be done to her. 

The incident suggested several hints to Mrs. How- 
ard. She saw that both children were fond of kittens, 
therefore she would ask to have Lucy’s, which she so 
often mentioned, brought to her, and that might settle 
one cause of dispute. As to other difficulties that 
might arise such a remedy would probably be at hand 
as the case demanded. It became her study how to 
avoid troubles, as that was much easier than to adjust 
them after they appeared. 

Her teacher found Lucy at first intractable, as she 


A NEW PUPIL, 


123 


had been as free as the birds of the forest, and could 
no more be kept still than the rushing, noisy brooks 
of her native hills. Sometimes when engaged in her 
lessons she would be seized with a sudden impulse to 
chase the kitten through the room, or frolic with 
Willie, or run to the barn and suddenly start up the 
sheep and set the hens to making a noisy cackling, 
but after much coaxing she would return to her tasks ; 
she would, however, repeat her amusing freaks with 
variations. Such a want of decorum astonished Anna, 
whose sense of propriety seldom forsook her, but 
Lillie was highly delighted, and was disposed to take 
advantage of such examples. 

Mrs. Howard was greatly puzzled to know how to 
manage so untamable a child as Lucy, and at the same 
time allow her a healthy freedom of action. Her 
curiosity was very easily aroused, and her teacher had 
the power to awaken and stimulate that faculty in 
others, and had made use of it to awaken a desire for 
knowledge in her own children. She called to her aid 
the objects and scenes with which they were familiar, 
and taught them to spell the names of articles in 
common use, and if they were of foreign manufacture 
she taught them something about the countries and 
the people where they were obtained. Her lessons, 
drawn from nature, made a deeper impression than 
those derived from books ; and she even derived 
illustrations for enforcing moral and religious truth 
from this source. The sky, the heavenly bodies. 


124 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


mountains, trees, flowers, the seasons, day and night, 
were all used as aids to impress her little ones with a 
sense of the power, wisdom, and goodness of the 
Creator, and inspire them with a sense of His tender 
love and care for them, and of their duty to love and 
obey Him. 

These lessons were delightful recreations, not only 
to the pupils but also to their teacher. Mrs. Howard 
possessed taste and imagination joined to a good 
judgment ; besides, her acquaintance with literature 
was quite extensive for those times, therefore she did 
not require a vast library, though she had a number 
of choice volumes on various subjects, but the Book 
of Nature was ever open to her use. After her 
removal to her new home, she had lived almost secluded 
from society, but her loss from that cause had been 
her gain in other ways, as it gave her time to become 
a diligent student of nature in many of her varied 
aspects. Daily observation of the grand and beautiful 
could not fail to stimulate her love of the works of 
the Creator, and her enthusiasm she imparted to those 
under her instruction and influence. 

The lessons taught the children, Lillie repeated in 
her infantile way to her kitten, the baby, or whoever 
might choose to listen. One day her mother explained 
the manner plants were nourished by the circulation 
of the sap through the branches. The lesson was 
repeated, some days after, to Henry Walton, with 
some original amendments. 


A NEW PUPIL, 


125 

See the booful flower. Dod made it. He made 
mouves ; mamma said so.’' Looking at the stem. 
‘‘ See um } ” 

What did he make mouths for ? ” 

** ’Cause they eat, they does.” 

O, Lillie means that the plants take up water out 
of the ground. That is their food, and it makes them 
grow just as we grow by drinking milk,” said Anna. 

“Yes, mamma said so, she did,” insisted Lillie, 
giving that as a sufficient and conclusive reason for 
her theory. “ Trees all die, f ’owers all die ; they come 
to life ’gain. Papa die, he come back ’gain.” 

The resurrection of plants and the resurrection of 
the dead were blended in her mind ; she had heard 
of both, and with a child’s reasoning had joined the 
two. 

Lucy had become quite happy in her new home ; 
her little kitten, her dolls and their extensive ward- 
robes, and her other toys had been brought from her 
playhouse at her father’s. The little Howards had 
never seen so many playthings in all their lives, for 
their parents believed that a few well-selected toys 
were better adapted to please them than a large 
number ; besides they wished to teach their children 
to rely upon themselves for amusement as much as 
possible. When the weather was suitable they found 
entertainment out of doors, and when they were con- 
fined to the house they busied themselves in various 
ways, without their mother’s constant attention. 


126 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Anna had been taught the lighter parts of household 
duties and was quite useful to her mother. 

Lucy and Lillie were taught to sew ; but it was no 
light task to keep two such lively children quiet, and 
their progress at first was, consequently, slow and 
unsatisfactory. 

Dr. Clive had wisely kept away from Glen Cottage, 
until his daughter had become reconciled to her new 
home ; but one day he surprised her by an unexpected 
visit. She was delighted to see him, getting into his 
lap, hanging about his neck, thrusting her hands into 
his pockets, and dancing about his chair, at the same 
time talking incessantly of her new experiences, until 
her father cut short her story with an imperative in- 
junction for silence. He was highly gratified at the 
course Mrs. Howard was pursuing, and congratulated 
himself on having placed his daughter under her care. 

Mr. Layton had become a frequent visitor at Glen 
Cottage, where he spent many of his evenings, and 
found a congenial friend in its mistress. He had 
established friendly relations between himself and the 
younger members, so that a visit from him was the 
occasion of rejoicing among them. This was of great 
assistance to Mrs. Howard, in her efforts to entertain 
her young pupils, and a great benefit to them as well 
as entertainment. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE SPELLING-SCHOOL. 

** T was in youth, that hour of dreaming, 

Round me visions fair were beaming.” 

A FEW weeks after the term began a committee of 
the older scholars waited upon Mr. Layton to obtain 
his consent to have a “ spelling-school,” with the 
request that they might be allowed, after the exercises, 
a little social enjoyment. The teacher told them he 
was willing, but it was proper they should obtain the 
consent of the school committee, and as to the enter- 
tainment they must consult their friends about it. 
They were sure of the consent of the committee, and 
no less certain of the parental sanction for the “ fun.” 
If there were any who did not quite approve of the 
plan, they quieted their scruples by the argument that 
young people must have some amusement, and if they 
did not get it in this way they might in another more 
objectionable. 

“ Mother, mother,” said Arthur Walton, bursting 
into the room, and dancing about in high spirits, 
Mr. Layton is going to have a ‘ spelling-school,' 
and all the big fellows and girls are going to have a 
grand time, and he says all the old folks must come, 
so you must go. O, ain’t I glad ? ‘ Diddle, diddle, 

(127) 


128 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Dumplin’, here ’s my son John/ springing upon his 
brother's shoulders. 

‘‘ Are you crazy, Arthur.? " said John, shaking him 
off. 

John, which giri are you going to take? Is it 
Tilda Baldwin ? There, 't is Tilda, ain’t it ? ” 

‘‘ Go away, you impertinent fellow,” giving him a 
thrust, and trying to conceal a blush on his cheek. 

** Where ’s Henry, mother ? ” 

‘‘ Gone to the Cottage.” 

Of course, mother. I really believe you will have 
to part with him for good. He likes to stay there 
better than at home. I want him to help father do 
the chores to-night.” 

Why can’t you help him, John ?” 

** Well, mother, I want to ride over to Woodard’s 
to see him on some business.” 

Perhaps your father can get along without you. 
He is coming, and you can ask him.” 

It was not long before Pete was harnessed to the 
best sleigh, and John was on his way to Woodard’s, 
but that was not his only errand, for a pretty young 
miss with a bewitching smile, bright blue eyes, and 
cheeks like a blush rose was playing magic with the 
youth’s fancy. He was impatient to be ahead of 
Alfred Whiteman or Reuben Allen. 

Matilda was not engaged to go with any one else^ 
therefore she would accompany him to the ‘‘spelling- 
school,” but her younger sister, Ellen, must go also. 


THE SPELLING-SCHOOL. 


r29 


That delicate matter being settled, John Walton was 
ready to fulfil the mission entrusted to him, — that 
of securing a musician for the occasion. Dan 
Woodard was a mulatto, the only colored man in 
the town, and also factotum. Like most of his race, 
he was fond of music. Dame Nature being his only 
teacher. There was more music in his whistle than 
in most voices, and when alone he was always whist- 
ling. Did ever a clear silver whistle sound through 
the air by night or day, in the. village, field, or woods, 
it was sure to be Dan Woodard’s. He was not only 
an expert in this art, but he was an accomplished 
fiddler, so the country people thought, and never was 
there a ball or party, but Dan Woodard must do the 
fiddling. His suavity and easy politeness made him 
popular as a waiter, hence his services were sought at 
the public house on special occasions, such as musters, 
sleighing parties, and balls, or whenever large com- 
panies were expected, and even the fashionable people 
had him at their weddings. He was always good- 
natured and obliging, but, alas, where can human 
perfection be found } — he was fond of strong drink, 
and would occasionally indulge too freely. Of course, 
all the young people were fond of him, as he so largely 
contributed to their amusement. He was always 
ready to oblige his friends, even at the expense of his 
own family, for it was believed he sometimes forgot 
to provide for his wife and four small children, quite 
contented to let the neighbors interfere in the matter. 


130 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Long before John Walton came in sight of Dan’s 
cabin he heard his clear, shrill whistle, as it was borne 
on the crisp, cold air. Dan was busy attending to his 
stock, which comprised a cow, a horse blind in one 
eye, a pig, and cosset lamb. These all lived together 
in a rude shed, which looked as if every gust of wind 
might blow it to pieces. Anise Woodard was prepar- 
ing supper for her family, when John drove up to the 
cabin. The sound of his sleigh-bells drew four little 
curly heads to the door, with their mother in the rear. 

“Where is Dan.^” inquired John. No one ever 
called him by any other name than Dan. 

“In the shed, sir,” with a low courtesy. “Please 
walk in.” 

“I cannot stop long; I will go and find him there.” 

“ Good evening, Dan.” 

“Good evening. Master Walton,” said Dan, with 
one of his most respectful bows. 

“ We boys are going to have a spelling-school in 
our district to-morrow night, and we intend to have a 
little fun afterwards. We want you to play for us. 
Will you come.^” 

“ Thank you, Master Walton ; you are too kind to 
a poor fellow like me.” It was a way he had of dis- 
paraging himself when his vanity was at all flattered. 
“I shall be happy to give my humble services, if you 
think them of any value.” 

“ O yes, Dan ; we cannot get along without you. I 
shall expect you. Don’t fail to come.” John turned 


THE SPELLING-SCHOOL, 


I31 

his horse to go, but Dan, who wanted to show his 
hospitality, urged him to go into the house and take 
something warm. 

I cannot ; I must return immediately. Besides, 
Dan, I never drink. Good night.’* 

“ Good night,” replied Dan, gracefully touching his 
hat, as Walton drove off. 

The scholars assembled at the school-house at an 
early hour, every one being in excellent spirits. The 
older boys and girls were having a little flirtation in 
a sly manner, while the younger ones were chasing 
one another over benches, dodging behind one an- 
other, and then plunging unceremoniously into a 
group of by-standers, until the master came and put 
a stop to their sports. Sleighs began to arrive with 
parents and friends. The scholars brought candles, 
some in candlesticks and some in wire frames to fasten 
to the sides of the windows. The roaring, crackling 
fire diffused light and heat, making the bare walls and 
rude benches look cheerful, 

Mr. Layton called upon the scholars to name the 
captains for the spelling match. After some bant- 
ering, Alfred Whiteman and Philanda Cutler were 
elected. The parties chosen took their places on 
opposite sides, and the election of spellers began. 
Courtesy gave the first choice to Miss Cutler. John 
Walton was called, when he took his seat beside Phi- 
landa Cutler. Matilda Baldwin was chosen by Alfred 
Whiteman. Then was heard Hannah Whiteman, Reu- 


132 


SOIV/NG AND WAITING. 


ben Allen, anti so the election went rapidly forward, 
each side anxious to get the best spellers, until every 
scholar had been arranged on one side or the other, 
except one unfortunate pupil, Hiram Parker, who was 
chosen by lot, neither party wishing to take the risk 
of his spelling. Mr. Walton kept tally. 

The spelling began with the one who had the first 
choice. When a word was missed on one side and 
spelled by the other, it was a loss to the first ; but if 
it came back and was spelled correctly, it was saved. 
The spelling went on very briskly, the two sides for 
some time keeping abreast, until Whiteman began to 
lose a little ground, and at recess it was announced 
that Miss Cutler bad gained five words. Then there 
was an uproarious shout from the Cutlerites, but the 
other side charged their defeat to Hiram Parker. 
After a short recess, “ sides ” were again chosen, this 
time by Lottie Allen and Solomon Baldwin. Mr. 
Layton’s candle must be held for him while he was 
pronouncing the words, and Hiram was appointed to 
the office, much to his delight and the satisfaction of 
the other scholars who did not wish the task. This 
time the tally was alike when the spellers stood, and 
when one failed to spell the word correctly he sat 
down. The teacher confined himself to the spelling- 
book until only five or six were left standing, when 
he had recourse to the dictionary, yet still found it 
difficult to defeat two or three of his pupils. Finally 
all were seated except Matilda Baldwin, when he closed 


THE SPELLING-SCHOOL, 


133 

the book as a sign she could not be defeated, amid 
the cheers of the whole school. 

The spelling was over ; the parents and friends 
with their younger children left, also Mr. Layton, and 
the field was ppen to the older pupils and a few friends 
from other districts. Dan Woodard arrived with his 
violin, and after quietness was restored he began to 
arrange the strings of his instrument and gave a few 
flourishes with his bow in professional style, which 
set some of the nimble feet vibrating. Dancing in 
those days was no lazy exercise, when the blood was 
sent through the veins in rapid leaps, imparting color 
to the cheeks and elasticity to the steps. 

The room was not large enough for all the pupils 
to join in the dance at once, therefore some were 
spectators ; but during the evening all had an oppor- 
tunity of exhibiting their terpsichorean ” accom- 
plishments. John Walton and Alfred Whiteman, the 
managers, would not allow the party to prolong their 
amusements until the late hours of the night, as that 
was not according to the wishes of their parents or 
the approbation of the public ; therefore, the dancing 
being finished, the young people made preparations 
to depart, those living near walking, while those more 
distant rode to their homes. Some of the party were 
not exactly satisfied, since a few favorite youths 
escorted two young girls, while others were left with- 
out any. This caused some jealousy, though, fortu- 
nately, no tragedies occurred. 


134 


SOW/A'G AND WAITING. 


The next day the old school-house exhibited signs 
of the evening’s revel. Drippings from the candles, 
fragments of paper, apple-parings, and scattered books 
were evidences of the scenes of the preceding even- 
ing ; but the pleasure it afforded the scholars and 
their friends was the theme of recess conversation for 
a week after, and greatly advanced the popularity of 
Mr. Layton. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


CHANGING OWNERS. 

“ A man sat beside his merchandise, 

A careworn, altered man, 

His waking hope, his mighty fear, 

Were money and its losses.” 

The long expected visit of Mrs. Howard’s brother 
and sister was at length made, and the occasion was 
both joyful and sad. When they last met it was under 
the paternal roof before the family circle was broken, 
when father, mother, brother, sister, husband and child 
were all present to strengthen the ties that bound 
Paulina Howard to life, and she felt that her cup of 
earthly blessings was full. 

‘‘My only regret,” she said, “is in being separated 
from my friends. If I could live near them there 
would be no other earthly blessing to desire. Har- 
vey is so kind and dear to me, and little Anna is such 
a comfort!” 

“Paulina, you must not place your hopes on earthly 
friends. Our Heavenly Father will not allow His 
children to put implicit confidence in any earthly 
object.” 

“ True, mother, I hope I shall not idolize my friends, 
but do you think it wrong to love them devotedly?” 
(135) 


136 


SOmjVG AND WAITING. 


‘‘No ; it is our duty to do so, but we must not 
place them above our Heavenly Father/' 

Paulina Howard, with a conscience so sensitive that 
the least wrong gave her pain and sent her in peni- 
tence to her closet, would not intentionally have loved 
husband and child as she loved her Saviour, and who 
could say that she did ? Is it right to judge others 
about the secrets of the heart ? Can we know why 
God chastises His children ? It may be less on 
account of their sins than for their example of 
patience and resignation. 

While separated from her friends Paulina had been 
called to drink the cup of sorrow ; first, in the loss of 
a beloved father, and then, suddenly, in the death of a 
devoted companion. 

The meeting of brother and sister naturally revived 
the scenes of the past, so painful to her heart, but joy 
at seeing her friends alleviated her sorrows. 

Mr. William Sherwood was an energetic man of 
business, prompt, decided, and sagacious. His experi- 
ence in practical farming, and his sound judgment, 
rendered him a valuable manager of his sister's 
pecuniary affairs. Before a week passed he had 
gained all the knowledge necessary for the settlement 
of his late brother-in-law's estate, and arranged his 
plans accordingly. It was decided to sell the farm 
and stock, except one cow, and the profit from the 
stock and farming implements would more than pay 
the mortgage on the farm and any incidental expenses 


CHANGING OWNERS. 


137 


incurred. The use of a few acres of land was reserved 
for Mrs. Howard as long as she remained at the 
Cottage. 

Mr. Walton needed more land, as his boys were 
growing to manhood, and after due consultation with 
his family, he decided to purchase the Howard farm, 
though Mrs. Howard could occupy it as long as she 
wished. He said that we must keep the widow in the 
neighborhood, “ I would rather have old Pete go, than 
have her move away, and if anyone else buys the 
farm, she, of course will leave.” 

Her brother offered her a home with himself, but 
she decided to remain at the Cottage while her 
children were so young. She said it would be better 
for her to remain ; besides, her independent spirit was 
averse to accepting pecuniary aid, unless absolutely 
necessary. When her family needed greater facilities 
for education than she could afford, she might be 
obliged to accept her brother’s generous offer. 

Purchasers were found for everything that was to 
be sold, and now came one of the severest trials for 
the family, since its master had been laid in the grave. 
Dr. Clive bought Fleety, and the sorrow of the 
mother and children at parting with her, found some 
alleviation in the fact that the animal had so kind a 
master. Fleety, the gentlest of horses, was a sorrel 
mare with a white star in her forehead and white 
around her feet which the children called her stock- 
ings. She had been much petted and would come to 


138 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


the door for her choice morsels taken from the hands 
of Anna and Lillie. Mr. Howard had often indulged 
his children in horseback rides around the yard, and 
in these exploits, Fleety seemed fully consious of the 
responsibility of her charge and walked or trotted as 
if she were carrying a basket of china and afraid of 
its breaking. 

When Dr. Clive came to take her away, the children 
burst into tears with loud lamentations, which were 
quieted by his promising to drive her home often and 
take the children to ride. The favorite cow was kept, 
but the rest of the stock was sold to different neigh- 
bors, and Mrs. Howard felt that these animals, the 
object of her husband’s care, would be treated kindly. 

After Mr. Sherwood had sold all the disposable 
property at the Howard farm, he proceeded to settle 
the accounts against the estate, which were few, in 
small bills, as Howard was always scrupulous about 
contracting debts. The largest of much account, was 
the mortgage on his farm. A considerable payment 
had been made just before his death, but Mr. Merill 
had not been anxious for the settlement of that debt, 
and when he heard of the sad event, he counted on 
getting the farm. Howard had brought it under ex- 
cellent cultivation, and the buildings were new and in 
good condition, which made the property a desirable 
prize; but how to manage so that his scheme might 
succeed, bedame the object of deep study to the wily 
trader. 


CHANGING OtVNEi^S. 


139 


‘‘ If,” thought he, ‘‘ I can induce the widow to keep 
it and allow me to place Griswold there to carry it 
on, I think with his co-operation, it may come into my 
possession in a few years. Women do not under- 
stand managing business, and can be easily duped. 
She will, of course, need supplies from the store, and 
by running up large bills without settlement, it will 
not be difficult soon to spend all the farm is worth. I 
will call and see her before long to aid me in my plan.” 

This scheme seemed the most feasible and he 
thought it over many times, making such changes as 
he considered best, until he had elaborated it into a 
finished piece of strategy. 

While he was working at his scheme one day, Mr. 
Sherwood called on business. The two men had 
never met before, but they felt a mutual distrust 
before they had been five minutes together. Mr. 
Merill was the senior of Mr. Sherwood by several 
years. He had thin, stern features and a quick, 
furtive glance, with a forehead indicating intelligence ; 
his whole aspect was cold and forbidding. He was 
apparently affable, but there was a sinister smile on 
his features which led a close observer to be on his 
guard. 

Mr. Sherwood had strong features, a broad forehead, 
and decided firmness of the mouth. His manner was 
decided, but abrupt at times. Both men were shrewd 
and understood the world, especially the business 
world. After introducing himself and making known 


140 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


his errand, Mr. Sherwood was addressed by Mr. Mer- 
ill in most cordial terms. 

“What does Mrs. Howard propose to do on the 
farm?” inquired Mr. Merill. 

“ She proposes to do nothing,” replied Mr. Sher- 
wood. 

“ Nothing ! Why, she will not allow so good a farm 
run to waste. It seems to me she ought to have 
some experienced hand to carry it on. Let me see ; 
there's Griswold, he ’s a capital farmer. Mrs. How- 
ard is a sister of yours, is n’t she? Well, I will say to 
you that she is one of the best women in town. It 
would be a great pity to lose her, Mr. Sherwood.” 

“ What is the amount of the mortgage unpaid, Mr. 
Merill ? ” 

“ A trifle, Mr. Sherwood, a mere trifle. It ’s no 
consequence whether it ’s paid or not at present. It 
could n’t be in better hands,” meaning his own, proba- 
bly, “ if I do say it.” 

Mr. Sherwood thought differently, though he did 
not say so. 

“ The farm is sold, and must be freed from incum- 
brances before the deed is given.” 

“ Sold, did you say ? I never heard of it. To 
whom ? ” 

“ Mr. Walton bought it.” 

“ Really, now, I had n’t supposed Walton was able 
to own two farms. Are you sure he is able to pay 
for it?” 


CHANGING OWNERS. 


I41 

Perfectly sure ; as good as the Bank of England/’ 

Without further discussion the debt was paid, and 
the last chance for the Howard farm was lost to Mr. 
Merill, and long after Mr. Sherwood had gone the 
merchant sat brooding over the subject, dejected and 
moody. He was deeply chagrined that he had been 
outwitted, for he plainly saw that Mr. Sherwood sus- 
pected his motives. His plans he had pondered over 
so long had utterly failed, and he now turned his 
attention to his other debtors, from whom he might 
reap some advantages to compensate for his imagin- 
ary losses. He had set his heart so earnestly upon 
obtaining Howard’s farm, he came to believe that he 
had been really ill-used. He examined his papers, 
comprising mortgages, bonds, notes, etc, held against 
different persons, until he came to one labelled Page 
to Merill.” 

‘‘ Ah ! this mortgage must be foreclosed. Humph ! 
that farm is worth little, but there ’s a piece of land 
on Maple Hill I want cleared and reduced to cultiva- 
tion. I must have a sheep pasture on that hill. Now, 
Page has half a dozen or more boys, and what is bet- 
ter for them than to chop trees and burn brush ; it 
will keep them out of idleness and mischief, and it is 
said they are inclined that way. Jones wants Page’s 
land, and I can sell it for a good price. Let ’s see ; 
what did it cost ? Never mind, I shall make one 
hundred and fifty per cent. Page better begin on 
Maple Hill when spring opens. There is a log shanty 


142 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


on the grounds now, and he can change it into a com- 
fortable house by little effort. 

“ What’s here O, this is the claim on Dan Wood 
ard’s place. What can be done with this } The new 
comer — I ’ve forgotten his name — wants a small piece 
of ground with buildings. How will it do to let him 
have that } Dan will never redeem it, and who cares 
for a black man } Perhaps I can find some corner 
for him to work upon many years to come. The only 
trouble is he ’ll never labor two days at a time. 

“Here’s Parker’s note, no interest paid for three 
years, and he can’t pay it ; besides, he ’s running a bill 
at the store, a large part of it for rum. Well, he’ll 
have a mortgage on his farm before six months, and 
when I get my hands on it, the property is mine. 
Parker ’s a capital farmer if he would let rum alone, 
but it’s all over with him now.” 

Thus Mr. Merill went through his package marking 
several papers for immediate attention, while others 
were labelled six months, twelve months, good, or 
useless, according to the trader’s view of the case. 
He was the principal merchant in the town, and 
though several other stores had been started at differ- 
ent times by other persons, scarcely one could com- 
pete with him and sooner or later would resign their 
business. 

The only one who could in any sense be called a 
rival, was the firm of Moore & Knolton, young and 
enterprising men who made their store attractive by 


CHANGING OWNE/^S. 


143 


introducing some modern improvements not found in 
ordinary country stores, and were gaining customers, 
much to the discomfiture of Mr. Men'll, though he still 
held the vantage ground in consequence of being an 
older settler and having so many of the inhabitants 
in his debt. He was the wealthiest man in Jefferson, 
and much of his wealth consisted in land obtained by 
mortgages which his skilful financiering had always 
made profitable investments. He had the unenvia- 
ble reputation of overreaching in trade, and it was 
seldom that anyone escaped from his power without 
being cheated. With such a reputation, it was sur- 
prising to many, that anyone should have extensive 
dealings with him, but it was those who were in need 
of money and must buy on credit. 

When Page was notified that he must leave his farm, 
he became utterly discouraged, and what little energy 
he possessed seemed to forsake him. His wife be- 
moaned her lot so pathetically, that anyone but a hard- 
hearted person would have relented, but the feeling 
of pity where dollars and cents were concerned, never 
found a lodgment in the heart of Merill, who said : — 
Shiftlessness is the cause. A large family of chil- 
dren growing up in idleness, and so many mouths to 
feed, yet not half enough is raised to satisfy them. 
Why are poor folks cursed with so large families } It 
makes no difference where Page lives, it will be all the 
same ; besides, it is a great kindness to give him 
another chance. Not every creditor would have 


144 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


trusted him so well after waiting so long for his pay.*’ 
It was in this manner the inflexible merchant quieted 
his conscience. Maple Hill had a little patch of 
clearing, and the log house previously mentioned had 
been built for a sugar house, there being a large 
number of sugar maples in the vicinity. 

When spring came, the neighbors lent a helping 
hand to fit up his desolate dwelling for immediate 
use. It was of pretty good size, but consisted of only 
one room without doors or windows. These were 
supplied and the room was divided into two apart- 
ments. Under the supervision of Mr. Walton, things 
began to wear a more cheerful aspect. Aunt Jenny, 
whose pity had been greatly excited for the destitute 
family, gave bountiful supplies from her own stores, 
and obtained from many of the well-to do neighbors 
articles of comfort for the home of the Pages which 
they did not have in their old home, so they had some 
compensation for the change. 

The farmers in the neighborhood gave a day’s work 
each, in clearing the grounds of timber and other 
obstructions and preparing the soil for cultivation, 
and promised to build a barn after '‘haying time.” 
By the assistance of his neighbors. Page received 
quite an encouraging start, and had he possessed 
energy and perseverance he might have gained a com- 
fortable living from the soil which was naturally rich, 
but these qualities he did not have, therefore he lived 
much after his usual custom. 


CHANGING OWNERS. 


145 


When Mrs. Howard heard of the misfortunes of the 
Pages, she felt a desire to assist them, and after 
thinking of the subject she decided that her late 
husband’s clothing might be serviceable in supplying 
the wants of so large a family of boys. But how 
could she part with the cherished articles of one so 
dear to her memory ? There was a sacredness attached 
to everything that had belonged to him, and it seemed 
almost irreverent to give them to strangers, but she 
thought it was selfish to decline What would be her 
departed husband’s wish ? She believed he would 
approve, therefore she resolved to make the sacrifice. 
The gift was timely and relieved the family of the 
Pages from embarrassment and want of suitable cloth- 
ing for some time. 


CHAPTER XV. 


FANNY SHERWOOD. 

** Last year she was a wayward child, 

But Love has come, and everywhere, 

In blooming earth, in balmy air, 

It seems as though an angel smiled.” 

Clive Layton had been a frequent visitor at Glen 
Cottage since his introduction to the Howards, and 
the lime spent there, he considered the happiest of 
his residence in the district, and his calls were still 
more agreeable to him after the arrival of Mrs. How- 
ard’s young sister. Her vivacity, overflowing happi- 
ness, and child-like artlessness made her society like 
a sunbeam, wherever she went. From her cradle, 
her exuberance of joy found expression in gestures 
and singing, and when too young to exhibit her 
emotions by words, she would utter her melody in 
birdlike sounds, whence her pet name, “ Birdie.” 
As she grew older, she developed a voice of uncom- 
mon sweetness, which her friends had encouraged 
her to cultivate. Mr. Layton also had a noble voice 
and delicate ear for music, and it was not long before 
each discovered the other’s taste. The love of music 
was the tie which united two enthusiastic hearts, at 
first unconsciously, until they were firmly united in 
(146) 


FANNY SHERWOOD, 


147 


one. Other bonds of sympathy were gradually devel- 
oped as their acquaintance advanced, but music was 
the primal source of their mutual sympathy. 

Fanny Sherwood, though sixteen years old, did 
not appear more than fourteen, either in looks or 
manners. She was the youngest and favorite mem- 
ber of a large family, and had been regarded as a 
child to be amused, therefore she considered herself 
as such, yet to a close observer, beneath that child- 
like form and manner, was a depth of character which 
only needed development, to render her an energetic 
and useful woman. Her sister, Paulina, observed 
this, and hoped a change of residence and the gradual 
increase of responsibility requiring independence of 
thought and action, would mature her character, and 
give her just ideas of her true sphere in life. 

Clive Layton, who was dignified in manners, was, 
very naturally, regarded older than he was, therefore 
Fanny, at first acquaintance, treated him as an older 
brother, while he regarded her as a sprightly, intelli- 
gent, and interesting child. She had been kept at 
school most of the time, until within a few months, 
and as a pupil, she made good progress in her studies, 
and when she left, like most pupils, she was pleased 
that study would be laid aside, and she would be free 
from books and discipline. 

She had never given a thought to her future career ; 
indeed she had no other than a dreamy idea that she 
might at some time be settled for life, as all her 


148 


SOLVING AND WAITING. 


brothers and sisters had been, but that she had any 
responsible mission in the world, she thought no 
more about than the little birds whose songs she 
tried to imitate. 

A few days after her arrival at Glen Cottage, 
Fanny asked her sister for assistance in a certain 
piece of work. 

Paulina, will you show me how to do this ” 

‘‘ Have you never done this kind of work for your- 
self ’’ 

‘‘ Why, no ; I don’t know how to do it.” 

‘‘ How should /know.!^” replied Mrs. Howard. 

‘‘You learned, of course,” said Fanny. 

“Yes, and you can do the same. I could show 
you but I prefer that you should do it yourself.” 

With a little advice Fanny succeeded in accom 
plishing the work. 

Layton soon discovered that this young girl was 
more mature mentally than he supposed. She felt a 
new interest in those branches of knowledge previ- 
ously uninteresting to her, from the novel and lucid 
manner he treated them, while his superior education 
led her to a consciousness of her deficiencies, and 
she desired to resume her studies. Layton volun- 
teered to aid her, and soon found his pupil apt to 
learn and diligent in her studies. It may be inter 
esting to allow Fanny to relate her own story. 

My dear Kate, — You asked me to tell you ail about this 
heathenish place, as you called it, which you considered beyond 


FAJVNY SHERWOOD. 


149 


the limits of civilization, and of the awkward country acquain- 
tances I am supposed to meet. Well, now the whole town is 
buried under a snowbank, and as to the natives, I have seen 
only a few, except my sister Paulina’s family ; but these few, I 
should judge, belong to the genus Homo., — at least they are 
bipeds without feathers, — but future developments may reveal a 
new species. You know what a good-for-nothing little toy I 
have always been regarded, and I liked it, too, since it rendered 
any great effort on my part needless ; but** your harmless little 

Birdie ” is likely to have her wings clipped. Paulina, a good, 
kind sister though she is, has so many scruples about my depend- 
ent, aimless life, that she will not rest until she has accomplished 
a complete amendment of her little sister’s faults. What do you 
think she has already done? You will hardly believe that she, 
in a kind way, compelled me to cut out ” and make a dress for 
one of her children, and has taught me to make bread, too, and 
says it is nice; but I think she flattered me. a little, for I saw 
Anna make a face ” when eating it. I am also installed school- 
marm” in the family. Now I know that you will laugh outright 
when you learn that so giddy a girl, who could never keep still 
more than a humming-bird, has assumed so grave responsibili- 
ties. My pupils comprise Anna and Lillie Howard and a little 
girl by the name of Lucy Clive, the daughter of the physician, 
whose mother died when she was very young. She is a wild 
and wilful child, with black eyes and dark hair, and with all 
kinds of impulses, good and mischievous, as one often encoun- 
ters. T like her, though, she is so peculiar. 

Lillie Howard is the queerest little tot one ever saw. She 
does so many original things and says so many funny ones, she 
keeps us laughing from morning until night, while Anna is so 
mature that she puzzles me with her questions, and then I have 
to appeal to her mother for a solution. 

There is one other person I will mention, — that is the school- 
master, Clive Layton, a member of Dartmouth College. Every- 
one is praising him for being superior to any teacher they ever 


ISO 


sowmc AND WAI'riNG. 


knew before. He was quite intimate at Paulina’s before I came, 
and now continues his calls. He is a genuine pedagogue, — 
tall, stately, grave at times, and fond of study. At first I thought 
I should never like him, he seemed so reserved. I was afraid to 
speak, lest I might make some blunder; but after a better 
acquaintance he became quite affable, and when he discovered 
that I could sing, we got on very well. We often sing together, 
and sometimes Paulina joins us. He is interesting in conversa- 
tion and talks so mtlch about the books he has read that I am 
ashamed of my ignorance. I said the other day that I intended 
to resume my studies, when he offered to give me any assistance 
in his power. Doubtless he regards me as a very ignorant little 
girl, with limited capacities, whom it would be an act of generos- 
ity to instruct. I shall try to improve under his tuition and 
prove to him that I desire to be something more than a play- 
thing. Your devoted friend, 

Fanny Sherwood. 

It would have been an unusual incident, if two 
young persons whose hearts were free, and whose 
tastes and sympathies were congenial, meeting so 
often, the one to guide, and the other to be instructed 
in knowledge, should not have the deep fountains of 
love moved, perhaps too deep for consciousness at 
first, but all the more truly. So it was with Clive 
Layton and Fanny Sherwood. Neither had fathomed 
his or her own heart, or suspected what the other 
felt. Fanny had been such a child in understanding 
her own emotions, that the dawning of a new passion 
troubled her. She had known what friendship meant, 
but her feelings toward Layton were different, and 
under their influence she became reserved in her 


FANNY SHERWOOD. 


151 

manners, pensive, and often startled at the mention 
of his name. She anticipated his visits with eager- 
ness and misgivings ; she wished to see him and at 
the same time to avoid him. She was losing her 
vivacity and would often shed tears at those airs she 
had so frequently sung with thoughtless joy. Mrs. 
Howard noticed the change and suspected the cause, 
and was anxious lest her sister might become too 
deeply interested in Mr. Layton for her happiness, 
for she supposed he was engaged to Alice Bradford, 
Dr. Clive's niece, judging from rumor, and from the 
fact of his being so familiar in the doctor’s family. 

Mr. Layton’s manner toward Fanny had been per- 
fectly honorable, and he had never been known to 
take advantage of her confidence to win her love, but 
Mrs. Howard thought she detected some indications 
that he was endeavoring to suppress a struggling 
passion, and in this she was not mistaken, as will be 
seen in his letter to Paul Crawford, his college class- 
mate. He wrote as follows : — 

“My vacation will soon close, and I must return to Alma 
Mater with, I hope, a fresh instalment of wisdom and experi- 
ence, agreeable or otherwise. You may have been informed 
about some of my adventures in this quiet town, but I have a 
new experience to relate. 

“ Perhaps I mentioned Mrs. Howard, a very agreeable acquain 
tance, whose husband died very suddenly. Soon after I came 
here, I found the lady a valuable friend, intelligent, refined, and 
the mother of three lovely children. This is an introduction to 
a very interesting topic. Some weeks ago, a young sister of 


IS2 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


Mrs. Howard came to spend a few months wi h her, and being 
on very cordial terms with the family, I continued my visits until 
they are indispensable to my happiness. Need .1 say why ? The 
little sister is the most bewitching specimen of her sex I ever 
met. Though not perfectly beautiful as the term is used, yet she 
has what is far better, a well-balanced mind, attractive manners, 
and a noble character. I have undertaken to assist her in some 
of her studies, and have discovered in her quickness of percep- 
tion, ready wit, nice discrimination, and correct taste. This was 
a delightful surprise, because I had considered her only as an 
engaging child adapted to amuse, and that was all. I think she 
regards me old enough for her father, — I am just five years her 
senior, — but she evidently considers me as dignified as a 
judge. 

On our first acquaintance, she appeared very affable, but lately 
she seems cold and reserved. What has caused the change is a 
puzzle to me. I know what you will say, and it may be true. 
Do you ask me what I think of Alice Bradford ? I never felt for 
her other than a brotherly love, and though beautiful and amiable, 
she has not the mental qualities to satisfy my tastes. You see I 
am not in a mood to return to college, and during the few weeks 
of my teaching here, I shall try to settle this question of anxious 
suspense, either for weal or for woe.” 

After Layton’s communication with his college 
classmate, the young friends, as they called them- 
selves, became more estranged, and resolved to 
break the enchantment, but always found it impos- 
sible — Clive, from a fear that his affection was unre- 
quited, and Fanny, from maidenly pride that hers was 
not sought, until they had made themselves thor- 
oughly miserable. As the time for Clive’s return to 
college was near, he determined to end the doubt, 


FANNY SHERWOOD, 


IS3 

but his sense of manly pride and fear of refusal 
prevented a declaration of his feelings until he had 
consulted her friends, therefore he resolved to lay 
the case before Mrs. Howard ; but still he delayed, 
hoping and fearing. If Fanny Sherwood was doubt- 
ful about her feelings towards Clive Layton, an inci- 
dent occurred which settled the question. 

One day Polly McClure called at the Cottage on her 
way from the village, where she had collected a 
budget of news, as usual, and had scattered along the 
way, gathering something at each stopping place, so 
that when she reached Mrs. Howard's her original 
stock was quadrupled. The subject was principally 
concerning Mr. Layton. 

“ So the school-master is going to marry Dr. Clive’s 
niece.” 

‘‘Ah, is he.^” replied Mrs. Howard. 

“Yes, everybody says so, and I guess it’s true, 
for I saw her in Merill’s to-day buying sheeting ; 
and what can she want of it if she ain’t going to be 
married } ” 

“ She could buy it for the Doctor’s use, could n’t 
she.?” 

“ Well, they went off riding the other day, and was 
gone two or three hours. Lyddy Clark said so. 
What ’s he go to Dr. Clive’s so much for, if they 
ain’t going to be married .? ” 

“ He’s a relative of the Doctor’s,” suggested Mrs. 
Howard. 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


'154 

Anyhow, the girl that catches Mr. Layton gets 
an awful good husband. Now there ’s my Johnny — 
he thinks nobody ^s so good as the master. I believe 
he’d fall down and worship him as a hathen idle. I 
would n’t wonder if half the girls of the village broke 
their hearts for him. Alice is as handsome as ar 
pictur, and I guess he ’s proud of her.” 

Mrs. McClure might have gone on in this way for 
an hour longer, if Mrs. Howard, observing Fanny’s 
anxiety, had not adroitly changed the subject of con- 
versation. Fanny was sewing by the window, and 
when she heard Layton’s name spoken, she listened 
attentively, but when it was associated with Alice 
Bradford, she became excited and a mist was before 
her eyes. Her color changed from pink to white, and 
when she looked out of the window objects seemed 
to move. She attempted to leave the room, but a 
faintness came over her and she did not venture to 
rise. In this distress of mind she continued until 
the Unwelcome visitor left. Her feelings were no 
longer under her control, therefore she went to her 
room and wept. Her pride had prevented her from 
acknowledging to herself that she loved Layton. He 
had never sought her love nor confessed his own, but 
the suffering Fanny endured when she supposed that 
Layton loved another, humiliated her. Could she ever 
suppress her feelings and appear calm and cheerful 
in his presence 1 Was it not selfish, she thought, not 
to desire to see Clive and Alice happy ? She thought 


FANNY SHERWOOD, 


IS5 


she had never experienced real sorrow before, not 
even when her beloved father died. She regretted 
that she ever came to her sister’s home, and she 
would go to any distant region if she could recover 
her peace of mind. She was so distressed that a 
violent headache ensued, and she could not appear 
when Clive called in the evening. 

Mrs. Howard understood the cause of Fanny’s 
suffering, thourgh no words had passed between them 
on the subject, but she thought it best not to urge 
her to confess the truth, as it would be in opposition 
to her sister’s modesty, until the general reports could 
be proved true. 

When Clive learned of Fanny’s illness, he was 
apparently dejected, and said but little, and after 
several attempts at conversation, in which he seemed 
to be in deep thought, he left at an early hour, say- 
ing he would call to-morrow. The disappointment at 
not meeting Fanny, and the anxiety for her health, 
led him to understand that she had become indispen- 
sable to his happiness. 

** If I cannot endure her absence for one evening,” 
thought he, ‘‘ how could I be reconciled to an entire 
separation, and why should I be so moved at the possi- 
bility of her severe suffering } I cannot endure this 
torturing suspense any longer. I am resolved to 
know the worst.” 

With these thoughts, Layton went to his room, 
but not to rest. His mind was too much agitated to 


iS6 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


allow him to sleep, and, according to his promise, he 
called the next evening. Fanny had been too ill to 
rise from her bed, therefore Mrs. Howard was alone, 
when Layton improved the opportunity to make 
known his feelings. 

‘‘Mrs. Howard,*^ he began, “you probably have 
discovered by my frequent calls and manner towards 
your sister, that I have a stronger feeling than friend- 
ship for her. This is true, and if I could win her 
love, I should feel that my cup of bliss was full. If 
her friends have no serious objections, I desire to 
offer her my hand ; my heart she has already. I am 
not worthy of such a prize, but I will make her hap- 
piness my constant study. Do you think there is any 
hope for me V 

Mrs. Howard replied that she believed Fanny’s 
happiness would be in safe-keeping, and if he loved 
her, it would be best to tell her himself. Layton 
withdrew more hopeful, and after he had gone, Mrs. 
Howard went to her sister, who was not aware that 
Clive had called. She had fallen into a troubled 
slumber, but awoke on her sister’s entrance. 

“ My dear Birdie, how do you feel now } ” 

“ Better, dear Paulina ; I hope by to-morrow to 
be quite well. The pain in my head is almost 
gone.” 

“ Dr. Clive has been here to take you and the chil- 
dren to ride. When I told him you were not able to 
go to-day, he said he would call again to-morrow fore- 


FANNY SHERWOOD. 


157 


noon, so you must be well by that time, my dear little 
sister.’' 

‘‘ He is, indeed, very kind, but do you think it is 
best for me to go } ” 

‘‘ Certainly ; it will improve your health.” 

Mrs. Howard thought Fanny’s hesitation was con- 
nected in some way with Clive Layton, and she was 
correct in her conjecture. Her sister had resolved to 
break off all intercourse with him, as far as possible, 
therefore wished to avoid everything that might 
remind her of him. 

Fanny,” said Mrs. Howard, ‘‘ I have not had an 
opportunity to speak about Mrs. McClure since she 
was here, you have been so ill. I will now say her 
reports are not to be trusted. She is quite well 
understood, and few persons place much confidence 
in what she says. Her statements about Mr. Layton 
and Alice Bradford are entirely unfounded, for I 
have their refutation from no less authority than Dr. 
Clive himself.” 

Had a ray of sunshine suddenly burst into the 
room at that hour of the evening, it would not have 
surprised the sufferer more than her sister’s words. 
Though a flush passed over Fanny’s pale cheeks and 
tears filled her eyes, she made no reply, but her sister 
noticed the effect. She said no more on the subject 
preferring to leave Clive to declare his love, and for 
her to hear it from his own lips. 

When the Doctor called the next day, Fanny was 


IS8 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


more cheerful and like herself than she had been for 
some. time. She and the children took a long ride 
with him, and when they returned he observed that 
the Lilies had returned blush roses,” a compliment 
intended for her, but which she applied to Lillie 
Howard. From the Doctor’s countenance it might 
be inferred that he understood how matters were 
tending, but how he got wind of it no one could tell, 
as if he could not have understood it from Clive 
Layton’s frequent visits, his absence of mind, and 
other symptoms of lovers. 

During the afternoon Mrs. Howard, with her chil- 
dren, called upon the Waltons, leaving Fanny alone. 
The day had been pleasant and promised one of those 
glorious sunsets which are a peculiar feature of New 
England. Fanny’s love of nature in alt her varied 
aspects was intense, but it never seemed more beau- 
tiful than now. The windows of the sitting-room 
opened to the west, affording a broad view of the 
horizon, and on this evening there was a collection 
of red and gold clouds covering the whole western 
sky. The sun had just entered .the mass of molten 
gold and became partially obscured, but his course 
could be traced by the fiery rays emanating in all 
directions. 

Fanny was so absorbed in witnessing the splendor 
of the scene, she did not notice the entrance of Clive 
Layton, who came and stood by her side Just at 
this moment the sun came from behind a cloud, and 


FANNY SHERWOOD, 


159 


his rays fell upon her beautiful hair, while her counte- 
nance glowed with enthusiasm. She turned, and was 
surprised to see Clive by her side, and as she raised 
her eyes to his, he gave her such a look of passionate 
tenderness that a blush suffused her cheeks, and her 
eyes, filling with tears, were cast down. They stood 
silent for a moment, as each understood the other. 

Fanny,” said Clive, “ I need not tell you of my 
love. You already possess my secret. Do you 
respond to this emotion } ” 

She did not reply, but gently placed her trembling 
hand in his, as a pledge of her affection. 

When heart responds to heart, and mind to mind, 
words are useless ; silence is often the best expres- 
sion of love. They stood gazing upon the glorious 
scene of nature, until the brightness faded away. 
They lived years in emotions, during the brief space 
their hearts had been united. Henceforth, the cur- 
rents of their lives were blended, and would flow on 
together through time and eternity. Such was the 
speechless vow made to each other, and they offered 
a silent prayer to their Heavenly Father, as they 
stood together, that He would bless their future 
years. Clive was the first to break the silence. 

My dear Fanny, nature is favorable to our union. 
She has accepted our course ; therefore, let us com- 
memorate this important^ event of our lives by observ- 
ing this hour, either together or separately, by offering 
a prayer.” 


l5o SOmNG AND WAITING, 

** Yes, Clive ; so let it be/' 

When Mrs. Howard returned, she understood the 
matter was settled, not from anything that was said, 
but from the calm happiness and delicate tenderness 
of Clive and Fanny. As devotedly as Fanny loved 
Clive, she would not consent to a union with him 
until her mother's sanction had been obtained ; there- 
fore she wrote to her about her engagement, her 
letter being followed by one from Clive, soliciting 
her consent to their marriage. 

Fanny's letter was as follows : — 

My dear Mother, — How can I write to you, my heart is 
so full of joy, — not the gay and thoughtless joy I once had, but 
a happiness so deep, so full, that I sometimes feel it inexpressible. 
O mother, your thoughtless child has become a thoughtful 
woman. What has produced this change ? do you ask ? I 
have given my heart to one who is worthy of it, were it a hun- 
dred-fold richer in love and devotion than it is. He has my 
happiness in his keeping, for I could not be nappy without his 
affection. But, dear mother, as much as I love Clive Layton, I 
will never consent to our marriage without your approval. I will 
not dwell upon his noble qualities, for Paulina will do that, but I 
plead my own heart’s necessities. You will like him when you 
become acquainted with him. Beloved mother, write and let me 
know your wishes. Your loving Birdie. 

Fanny's letter brought the following reply : — 

My dearest Birdie, — Your^ letter, so unexpected in the 
subject, gave me both pleasure and sorrow, — the latter, because 
the time has come when I must resign my youngest and darling 
child to a stranger’s care. I had fondly but selfishly hoped I 


FANNY SHERWOOD, 


l6l 


could retain her during my remaining days, and that -all the 
wealth of her affectionate nature would have been given to me, 
but I see now that I was mistaken. It is hard for a mother to 
hold a second pla-ce in the affections of her children, and I hope 
to be excused for clinging to my youngest ; still I resign her to 
the one who will love and cherish her. 

Your letter afforded me pleasure, darling, that you have 
apparently made a wise choice, and that you are conscious of the 
duties and responsibilities you will assume by the relation of 
wife. I will write to Mr. Layton, and from his letter you will 
learn more of my views on the subject than I now give you. 
Both of you have my sincere good-will, and may you always live 
in harmony and the fear of God. 

Your Mother. 

Layton, in writing to Paul Crawford, said : — 

“ The decision has been made, the die is cast, and I am a 
captive bound for the hymeneal altar. I brought my courage up 
to the point, and have won. My beloved’s name is Fanny, — to 
me the sweetest of names. Her friends have consented to our 
union, which must be deferred until I am settled in my profes- 
sion. This will prove no slight incentive to exertion on my part 
to establish myself as soon as possible after graduating. My 
profession has been decided, and I shall enter the first favorable 
opening. In about t^io weeks I expect to be with you at our old 
quarters. My short residence here has been attended with great 
results, and in regard to our future, — henceforth I write in the 
dual, — it has been the most important of my life. May you, 
Paul, become such as I am, — I will not say, ^ except these 
bonds,’ but altogether as I am. Clive.” 


A NEW MOVEMENT. 


** The school’s lone porch with reverend mosses gray, 

Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay.” 

It had been customary for the parents and friends 
of the pupils to visit the school on the last day of the 
term. Mr. Layton had made special preparations for 
the occasion, such as reviews of studies, exercises in 
declamation, and singing. To make the occasion more 
interesting to the visitors and give a fresh impulse to 
education in the town, he invited the people of the 
district to attend, and besides those, Dr. Clive, Mr. 
Goodell, and a few other friends from the village, so 
that the little school-house was crowded with scholars 
and spectators. The exercises were highly creditable 
both to the pupils and their teacher. Curly Jack 
spoke his piece and received great applause by the 
clapping of hands, while Arthur Walton and little 
Mary Whiteman exhibited much dramatic talent, so 
considered the audience, when they performed their 
part. “ Marvellous 'tirely,^* whispered Mr. Chapin, no 
less than half a dozen times, while Prudy, just as they 
retired from the platform, began to comprehend what 
it was all about and, wiping her spectacles, said in a 
very loud whisper, “ Well, now, did you ever see the 
(162) 


A NEW MO FEME NT. 


163 

like?” 'Squire Baldwin was there, looking like a 
martyr as he urged his portly figure into the small 
desk, though he gave unmistakable signs of amuse- 
ment when anything excited his mirth. 

At the close of the exhibition, Mr. Layton invited 
the committee to make a speech. Mr. Walton said 
he was not accustomed to speak in public, but there 
was a gentleman present who was, and then called 
upon Mr. Goodell, who made some remarks which 
called forth loud applause. Dr. Clive was then invited 
to speak. He had a fund of humor when once it could 
be awakened, and he made some facetious remarks 
which put all his listeners in excellent spirits. He 
closed by saying the town was greatly indebted to 
the teacher for the benefit he had conferred upon us, 
but he was not inclined to bestow credit only on 
one side. He thought Mr. Layton was greatly in- 
debted to the town for the rich treasure he would 
take away. The audience turned their eyes toward 
the teacher, who colored deeply, as if he had been 
guilty of plundering the public treasury. The literal 
minds supposed the Doctor referred to the small 
wages paid him, but the curious ones thought he 
referred to Alice Bradford, though none did under- 
stand' what he meant, except Layton and the Doc- 
tor himself. 

After the company retired, Mr. Layton took leave 
of his pupils, not without sincere regret on both sides. 
The scholars were sad at parting with a teacher they 


164 


SOIVIJVG AND WAITING. 


SO highly respected and loved ; even Rock White had 
become one of his most devoted champions. A 
short time after closing his school, Clive Layton 
returned to Alma Mater, to complete his college 
course. He was to graduate this year and had not 
hitherto looked forward to the time of leaving col- 
lege with the eagerness many students feel, but now 
he had a new and powerful incentive to begin at 
once the practical duties of life. Having selected 
teaching as a profession, he could enter immediately 
upon his calling ; besides he had acquired considerable 
practical knowledge of his business both before and 
during his connection with college life, therefore he 
was prepared, in a measure, to enter upon his chosen 
vocation. 

Mr. Layton’s metbods in his early experiences as 
a teacher gave promise of his future success. The 
expectations of his friends were fully met by his 
honorable and useful career in his profession. Soon 
after receiving his degree of B. A. from the college 
faculty, he began his labors in a prominent institution 
of learning, where he became eminent as an educator. 
Eventually his name was associated with the best and 
most influential instructors of his own and other States 
of New England, so that his school became the resort 
of pupils from different parts of the country. His 
methods of teaching were in advance of the times, 
and embraced many of those now in use, but many of 
his measures were entirely original. It was the char- 


A NEW MOVEMENT. 


165 

acter of the man, and to understand him one must 
see him in his class-room. His influence over his 
pupils, both intellectual and moral, was salutary and 
permanent. Even during his brief term in Jefferson 
it became a power, and did not end with the closing 
of his school, for he had succeeded in stimulating a 
healthy ambition in his pupils and awakened a new 
interest in education throughout the town, so that it 
was difficult for an ordinary teacher to obtain a situa- 
tion in any of the schools, or, if any one did, it 
became a doubtful question whether he could retain 
his position. Several teachers who succeeded Layton 
failed, and were obliged to acknowledge a defeat, not 
because the school was more difficult to manage than 
others, but for the reason that a higher standard both 
in teaching and governing was exacted by the parents 
and pupils. 

This new interest was not ephemeral as is often the 
case in all reforms, but it steadily deepened until a 
school of a higher grade was established in the town 
some years after, which acquired considerable reputa- 
tion in that section of the State. Several of its sub- 
sequent teachers had been pupils of Mr. Layton, and 
had imbibed his enthusiasm and adopted his system. 

Becoming interested in the schools, the inhabitants 
of Jefferson were led to improve their school build- 
ings, and several of the miserable structures were 
either remodelled, or new ones took their places and, 
after some years, the academy building was enlarged 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


1 66 

and improved, and became the pride and ornament of 
the town. 

There was, however, great opposition from the con- 
servative citizens, generally the largest tax-payers, to 
spend so much money needlessly, they said. They 
agreed that what was good for the parents was good 
enough for their children. They had obtained their 
education in no better school-houses than the old ones, 
and they did not think it wise to make the acquisition of 
knowledge too easy lest the learner should not appre- 
ciate it. The public money should be expended in 
some better way than building palaces for rude boys 
to pull down. The younger and more progressive 
spirits opposed these arguments, by contending that 
the health of the children demanded better accom- 
modations, that their places of study ought to be 
made more attractive, that they might consider it a 
pleasure and not a punishment to attend school, that 
the young mind should be imbued with the idea of 
beauty instead of repulsiveness. They argued that 
more money ought to be expended, not only on the 
school buildings, but in lengthening the school term 
and securing better teachers, and paying higher sal- 
aries. Thus a warfare was waged at every town 
meeting for some years, the progressive party slowly 
but surely gaining ground until they outvoted their 
opponents. 

It was a cause of regret that other towns were not 
inclined to follow the example of Jefferson, in securing 


A NEW MOVEMENT. 


i6y 

greater facilities for public education. Too many are 
still far behind in the march of improvement — both 
in regard to schools and school-houses. It is no un- 
common sight to see miserable, dilapidated buildings 
with nothing cheerful or convenient about them, oc- 
cupied for schools, in the rural districts. Building 
school-houses both beautiful and commodious, is not a 
needless outlay of public money, for in this way will 
occur a large profit in a more refined taste, a more 
elevated moral tone, and a more ardent love for knowl- 
edge in the young, provided a proper respect for 
public property is enforced upon their attention. 
Perhaps rnuch of the vandalism exhibited by members 
of public schools had its origin in the absence of all 
taste in their surroundings. 

Before closing the chapter, a brief notice of one of 
the characters of the story may be given. 

“ Who veileth love, should first have vanquished love.” 

Alice Bradford, and Clive Layton who was three 
years her senior, had been brought up near each other. 
They were orphans and their mothers were cousins, 
while their bereavements brought them into close 
sympathy. The children had been playmates from 
their earliest days and had attended the same school, 
and the joys and sorrows of one had been shared by 
the other. Being the only children of their parents, 
each sought in the other the companionship of brother 
and sister. The boy, conscious of his super ior strength, 


1 68 SOIV/NG AND WAITING, 

gently and carefully protected the little Alice, while 
she affectionately and confidingly trusted him, calling 
him ‘‘ dear brother,” and as she grew older, she 
always defended him against any blame his youthful 
follies might have caused him. In personal appear- 
ance, she was fair as a lily, her cheeks were like a 
blush rose, her hair fell over her shoulders in golden 
waves, while her eyes were mild and affectionate. 
Clive's dark hair and eyes and expressive features 
formed a striking contrast to the soft, delicate, and 
infantile features of his young cousin. Alice, whose 
intellectual qualities were fair but not brilliant, found 
an ally in her stronger companion who gladly assisted 
her through any difficulties in her school experience. 
She loved Clive as a sister would a brother, while he 
cherished for her the regard a noble brother would 
for a lovely sister. He was as anxious for her honor 
and happiness as a brother could be, and resented as 
quickly any want of respect towards her from his own 
sex. The only instance of his chastising a school- 
mate was in consequence of a rude and unbecoming 
remark made about her, when he promptly gave the 
offender a severe whipping. On account of their 
ardent attachment some of their friends thought that 
it might in the future result in a union for life. 

The young friends were not separated until Clive 
left to prepare for college, when Alice, after the death 
of her mother, went to live with her uncle. Dr. Clive ; 
so the young cousins were separated, though they 


A ATE W MOVEMEJ^T. 


169 

corresponded with each other but gradually became 
more reserved in expressing their feelings. As it had 
been suggested that they might unite their fortunes, 
Clive, when arriving at manhood, began to analyze his 
feeling towards Alice, and the result was that his love, 
though sincere and devoted, would not justify the offer 
of his hand. True, his regard for her might possibly 
ripen into a stronger feeling, but, until then, he would 
not allow his lips to utter what his heart did not feel. 

He had not seen Alice for two years, when he came 
to Jefferson, and during that time he had changed 
intellectually but she had remained the same in mind, 
though she had gained in personal beauty. They 
supposed before they met each other that no change 
had taken place, but they soon learned their mistake. 
Clive was impressed with the personal beauty of his 
cousin, and the effect was noticeable by his embarrass- 
ment and reserved manner which produced a corre- 
sponding feeling in Alice. The playmate of former 
days had passed into mature manhood and was intel- 
lectual, noble in appearance, and dignified in man- 
ners. Alice would have preferred to see him as he 
used to be. 

“ Now,” said she, ‘‘he will not regard me as formerly, 
I shall not venture to be on friendly terms with him.” 

Alice had never closely examined her own heart, 
for she never remembered the time when she had not 
regarded him with sisterly affection. She had always 
believed in him, and whatever he said or did was 


I/O 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


right in her estimation. Had he asked her to become 
his wife, or to regard him as a brother, she would 
have given her consent, provided she could have 
offered him her supreme homage and been loved in 
return. She had never developed what would be 
considered a strong character, but her constancy and 
devotion to her friends were hardly equalled, and any 
intimation that they were changing in their feelings 
towards her filled her heart with grief. 

When Clive arrived Alice was confident that he 
had lost his regard for her; but after a time his 
reserve gave way, and his former cordial manner was 
resumed, which encouraged her to hope he had not 
forgotten their early friendship. He found her the 
same confiding, warm-hearted friend ; but he was 
more firmly convinced that he cherished for her no 
other feeling than that of their childhood and youth. 
Her transparent character led him to see that she 
was still devoted to him, but whether she cherished a 
tenderer sentiment was not certain. He would have 
scorned to trifle with her affections, yet he would 
have been unhappy had he discovered any indiffer- 
ence towards himself. Thus matters stood between 
them when Fanny Sherwood arrived. 

Alice and Fanny did not, for some time, meet, 
until Clive had become specially interested in the 
latter, though Alice was not aware of the fact until 
they were brought together during a social party at 
Dr. Clive's. When the two young persons were 


A NEW MOVEMENT. 


I71 

introduced to each other there was a momentary 
feeling of jealousy between them. Fanny regarded 
Alice as the affianced of the man she admired, while 
the latter looked upon her as a rival. With less 
generous natures, these views would have caused 
estrangement ; but it did not, and the two came to 
like each other, though both were interested in Clive. 

Layton had the opportunity of comparing his two 
friends, which not to do would have been unlike his 
sex. Alice was faultless in features and complexion, 
but she had not the expressive eyes, animated coun- 
tenance, and fascinating ways of her companion. It 
was while in this mood that Alice fully comprehended 
his feelings in regard both to Fanny and herself. A 
woman’s instincts in such cases are far more sensi- 
tive than those of the other sex, and at the same 
time she is less likely to err in judgment, while on 
many other subjects her impulses might lead her to a 
wrong conclusion. Neither sex is likely to gain the 
whole truth without the assistance of the other, and 
for this reason woman should receive a broader cul- 
ture, and a more varied experience than have gener- 
ally been given to her. 

The admiration he expressed in his countenance 
for Fanny was more than language could have done, 
and she turned quickly away lest he should see that 
she understood that look ; but the pain Alice felt 
revealed to herself more than she cared to acknowl- 
edge. There was in her heart a feeling towards 


172 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Clive which she had only partially understood, until 
this little incident revealed it. 

After the company had withdrawn and Alice was 
left alone to her reflections, she gave expression to 
her emotions by tears, but her feelings varied. She 
felt as a devoted sister would on discovering that she 
held a subordinate place in the affections of a dearly 
loved brother, but greater was her sorrow when she 
knew that Clive would never be more than a brother 
to her. Her love must remain unrequited in her 
heart and memory, but she would try to be reconciled. 
It required great self-command to speak of Fanny 
Sherwood the next day, when Clive called, but she 
did not let him know she had heard of his engage- 
ment ; the secret belonged to him alone. 

She is very interesting and lovely,’’ said Alice. 

He thought if Alice could be so generous towards 
one who might be regarded a rival, she could have 
no other than a sisterly affection for him ; .but he 
erred in judgment, as many others have done when 
trying to fathom the depths of woman’s nature with 
its wealth of affection. 

No one suspected the struggles Alice concealed 
under a calm exterior, in attempting to conquer her 
emotions. She was gradually wearing away her life, 
with no witness to her sorrow except her Heavenly 
Father, and with no friend to sympathize with her, 
for her womanly pride concealed the truth. This, 
thought the sufferer, must be subdued ; for it is wrong 


A NEW MOVEMENT. 


173 


to yield to such feelings, therefore she would occupy 
her time and thoughts with some useful and engross- 
ing subject, in order to turn the current of her feel- 
ings into a new channel. 

What should she do ? was an important question. 
She had not cultivated a taste for reading, but she 
would do so now, as a relief to her thoughts. Then 
there was work to be done among the poor and the 
ignorant, and by assisting others, she would, perhaps, 
forget her own sorrows. She would become a Sister 
of Mercy '' without any outward symbol of her mission, 
and carry consolation to the afflicted, as her own expe- 
rience would prepare her for this work. She asked 
the doctor to be allowed to accompany him in some 
of his professional calls, that she might know how and 
where to bestow her charity. Her uncle was surprised 
at the change in her habits and tastes, but the cause 
was a mystery to him and to all her friends. 

Clive saw the change with pleasure, knowing that 
the great deficiency in Alice’s character was enthu- 
siasm in the pursuit of some noble aim, but he little 
dreamed of the cause that impelled her to act, or the 
motive that controlled her will. She pursued her plan, 
working and suffering, sometimes confident she had 
conquered, then in some unexpected manner her grief 
returned, afflicting her more remorselessly than ever. 
Her mother had died and to whom could she confide 
her secret sorrow } No, she would bear it alone. Her 
unremitting duties and unspoken grief began to affect 


174 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


her health, always delicate. The bloom faded from 
her cheek, and her step was languid. She lost her 
natural cheerfulness, and at times appeared moody. 
Her friends were anxious about her health, and urged 
her to resign her self-imposed tasks. 

Clive was more kind and attentive than ever when 
he saw Alice declining, and took special pains to 
divert her mind. He urged her to ride with him often, 
and sometimes she declined while at others she ac- 
cepted his invitations to avoid awakening any suspi- 
cions in his mind. While in his presence, she would 
seem to be living in the past, and forgetting the pres- 
ent, but she could not trust herself to use the familiar 
terms of friendship in which they had been accus- 
tomed to address each other ; if they ever trembled on 
her lips, she would check their utterance. 

After these interviews followed her greatest mental 
sufferings. Though she enjoyed his presence, her 
judgment convinced her that her happiness required 
a complete separation. Some time after Clive’s en- 
gagement to Fanny, he told Alice, thinking it would 
be a surprise to her. She had been expecting such a 
declaration, and had schooled her heart to bear it, 
still, when it did come, and that, too, from his own 
lips, it made her more unhappy than she expected, 
but her self-possession never deserted her. She was 
not only calm, but commended his choice, and ex- 
pressed a sincere wish for their happiness. 

A long life seemed to Alice a terrible thought, and 


A NEW MOVEMENT, 


I/S 


she began to look upon death as a desirable event, 
but which she feared might be delayed, as it generally 
is to those who most desire it. 

What a change had suddenly come over her ! A 
short time before, life seemed so pleasant and death 
so terrible, but now the prospect was different. How 
could she bear this sorrow she could not express, 
with no one to share it with her, to lighten its burden ? 
She did not consider that time, change of place, and 
occupation might afford relief. A woman may conceal 
her grief from human eyes, and at times deceive even 
herself, but if her affections are blighted, neither time 
nor circumstances can wholly overcome it. She may 
give her hand, but her heart, in the ardor of its first 
love, she cannot give. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


SPRING. 

** What wak *st thou, Spring? Sweet voices in the woods, 

And reed-like echoes that have long been mute.” 

Every trace of winter had disappeared, and spring 
burst forth with the freshness peculiar to New Eng- 
land. The copious rains which had suddenly swollen 
the mountain streams caused a “freshet'* common 
in the northern regions, and the usual number of 
mills and bridges were swept away, large tracts of 
meadows had been covered with water and consider- 
able damage was done to the town of Jefferson. The 
cellars and gardens on the lowlands were flooded and 
some of the inhabitants on awaking in the morning 
found themselves like a ship in mid ocean, surrounded 
by a “waste of waters." The river La Molle, named 
by French adventurers, who saw it-duringa mid-sum- 
mer drought, was not what its name implies — it was 
neither slow, soft, nor sluggish, but during the abun- 
dant rains, it was subject to inundations which 
caused the inhabitants along its banks some trouble 
and losses. The bridge which spanned the river con- 
necting the north and the south parts of the village 
4iad, on a similar occasion, been carried away while 
one of the citizens was crossing, so a freshet was 
(176) 


SPRING. 


177 

afterwards a warning to others to beware of the 
bridge. 

The scenes presented after one of these inundations 
were desolate and ludicrous. Whole trees, broken 
fences, roots and dead branches of shrubs, old casks, 
or any loose articles in the way of the flood, witb 
mud and sand, were hurried along and deposited in 
strange places. Grassy meadows were covered with 
unsightly debris^ and deposits gathered on the way 
were left in door-yards and on walls and fences. On 
one occasion a housewife had her week’s washing 
scattered for miles along the banks of the river, while 
some of her linen was discovered fluttering from tree 
tops as signals of disaster. Old shoes, baskets, rakes, 
tin pans, coffee pots, brooms, and barnyard gates were 
strewn along the banks for miles. 

Some of these scenes had been witnessed on the 
opening of the spring of which we write, but now all 
traces of the reckless flood had disappeared, and the 
fields and meadows, enriched by deposits received 
from time to time, were carpeted with vivid green 
while the trees were assuming their summer vesture ; 
the birds returning from their southern homes were 
making the forests vocal with their songs. The 
violets and early spring flowers were opening their 
petals, and giving their fragrance to the breeze. Both 
the animal and the vegetable creation seemed inspired 
with new life, on the return of the warm season. To 
no one were such days more joyful than to the young 


178 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


folks at Glen Cottage. Anna and Lucy had been 
looking forward for weeks to the coming of spring, 
and intently watching every harbinger with eager 
interest. When evening came they would sit on the 
door-steps and listen for the first croak of the frogs, 
and when they heard this signal of the approaching 
seaspn they danced with delight. 

Lillie had waited patiently for the birds to ‘‘eat up 
the snow,” as she expressed it, for then she could go 
out and find “ booful fowers.” At last their childish 
longing for the liberty of the fields was gratified. 

After the close of the winter school, Arthur Walton 
had been added to the number of Mrs Howard’s 
pupils, and his presence was very pleasing to the 
little girls. He assisted them in their sports, and 
was appealed to as umpire in their little disputes, and 
the right to rule was conceded to him by all the party 
except Lucy, who sometimes disputed his claim to 
prominence by the right of his age and sex. When 
she appealed from his judgment, Mrs. Howard was 
the Supreme Court, whose decision she had learned 
to respect. Arthur, who was running over with fun, 
could not, sometimes, help teasing his young friends, 
but he found his match in Lucy. She enjoyed nothing 
better than boyish sports, and was always ready to 
join Arthur, but would quarrel with him every five 
minutes. 

He would occasionally become impatient and de- 
clare be would never play with her again, but in a 


SPRING, 


179 


short time would become as cheerful as ever, and 
resume his pranks. Sometimes Arthur would impose 
upon Lillie’s confidence. She had the habit of remov- 
ing her sunbonnet when playing out of doors, feeling 
it an encumbrance, as most children do. Her mother 
told her not to do it, but she either forgot the com- 
mand or did not choose to remember it. The next 
time they were at play, she repeated the offence, when 
Arthur told her what he had often heard older persons 
say to children, which was, that a black man would 
come and carry her away if she took off her bonnet. 

“Will he, Arthur.?” 

“Yes, Lillie.” 

“ Won’t I see mamma any more .? ” 

“No.” 

“ Nor Anna, nor Luty .? ” 

“No ; you will never come back again.” 

Lillie seemed very thoughtful for a moment, then 
put on her bonnet and returned to the house. Arthur 
called after her, but she insisted on going to her 
mamma. 

“ Does n’t Lillie wish to play any longer .? ” inquired 
her mother. 

“ I ’s a naughty dirl.” 

“What has my little daughter been doing.?” 

“ I took off my bonnet.” 

“ I ’m sorry Lillie has disobeyed her mamma.*' 

“ Will the black man tarry me off .? ” 

“ Who told you he would .? ” 


l‘8o SOWING AND WAITING. 

** Arthur/’ 

“The black man will not carry you oflf, my child, 
but God will be displeased if Lillie disobeys her 
mother/* 

This assurance did not fully restore her confidence, 
and she kept close to her mother the remainder of the 
day, only leaving her to look out of the window as if 
watching for some one. 

Mrs. Howard regretted the effect of Arthur’s strata- 
gem, but hoped the impression would pass off without 
further notice ; but a few days after Lillie went alone 
into the garden, after urging her mother to see that 
her bonnet was “tight.” It was not long before 
Lillie’s loud screams were heard, and she was seen 
running as fast as her little feet could carry her, with 
her bonnet thrown back, and her curls streaming in 
the wind. 

“ Mamma ! mamma ! the black man ! I don’t want 
to go with him. I will be a dood dirl.” 

The child, out of breath, ran to her mother’s arms, 
trembling and out of breath, when a rap was heard at 
the door. This was the signal for another scream 
from the frightened child, as she believed the black 
man had really come for her. Upon opening the door, 
there stood Dan Woodard. Lillie was not mistaken, 
for she saw the black man and believed Arthur’s 
words were true. She could not be quieted, afid her 
mother was obliged to take her from the room, but it 
was some hours before she recovered from her fright. 


SPRING. 


l8l 

Her mother told her that Mr. Woodard loved little 
children, and that he had little girls and boys who 
loved their papa, and that God made him with a black 
skin, and loved him just as much as if he was white. 

“ Did Dod make the little dirls and boys black } 
inquired Lillie. 

“ Yes.^’ 

“Well, He shouldn’t.” 

“Why not, Lillie.?” 

“ ’Tause I don’t like ’em.” 

Mrs. Howard had always condemned the injurious 
practice of imposing upon the credulity of young 
children, to frighten them into obedience. To a sen- 
sitive child with a lively imagination, the injury 
might be incalculable ; besides, the tendency of such a 
habit is to make children distrust others when they 
discover -they have been deceived. As a faithful 
mother, she dreaded the time when her young family 
would be less under her own influence and exposed to 
the dangers of the world, but as that time would 
inevitably come, she would endeavor to prepare them 
for it. She told Arthur of the injurious consequences 
of trying to frighten children, and hoped he never 
would attempt to do it again, even in jest. 

Fanny Sherwood found her young charge becoming 
more interesting every day. She was acquiring a 
love for teaching which she supposed she could never 
do, partly, perhaps, because it was to be Clive’s pro- 
fession, therefore she was determined to like what he 


i 82 


SOIV/NG AND WAITING. 


preferred, and be in sympathy with him. She had 
a fondness for children, and her quick sympathies 
enabled her to enter into all their little joys and 
sorrows by which she won their confidence and love. 
She was so child-like and buoyant in her feelings, that 
she seemed like a sister to them. They called her 
Aunt Fanny or Aunty, even Lucy and Arthur, as well 
as Anna and Lillie. A stranger would have smiled 
that so youthful and child-like a teacher should b^ 
called Aunty.’’ There were no symptoms of rebel, 
lion in her little school except occasionally from Lucy. 
It was not to be expected that so stormy a nature as 
hers would always be submissive. One day she 
became impatient because she failed to remember her 
lesson, and after repeated attempts to recite it, she 
threw her book across the room, saying she would n’t 
try any longer. 

“ Take up your book,” said Fanny, 

‘‘ I won’t,” was the decided reply. 

“ You must, Lucy.” 

I must n’t, either.” 

I can’t love a little girl who talks and acts in this 
manner. Don’t you wan’t me to love you, Lucy 

“ No, I don’t.” 

“ You must go to your room, until you can obey.” 

She did not go, but remained defiant, until Mrs. 
Howard interfered and peremptorily bade her go to 
her room, and remain there until she was a better 
girl. Lucy had learned not to defy Mrs. Howard’s 


SPRING. 


183 


authority, for though the latter had been uniformly 
kind and reasonable in her discipline, she was firm 
and decided in carrying forward any measure she 
adopted. Her children always knew what to expect 
when she promised a reward or threatened a punish- 
ment It was this certainty of her promise or 
threatening which secured submission, and Lucy had 
discovered the secret of her power before this incident. 
She felt that Mrs. Howard’s displeasure was a severe 
punishment, for the affectionate though wayward 
child had given to her the love she would have felt 
for her own mother. 

Lucy went to her room as bidden, and after a half 
hour’s absence, returned, smiling, with no traces of 
passion remaining. She went to Mrs. Howard, placed 
her arms about her and promised to be a good girl. 

“You must go and ask Fanny to forgive you as 
you disobeyed her.” 

Fanny was a favorite with Lucy, and rnany times a 
day would manifest her affection for her young teacher 
in her demonstrative way, though she was not always 
obedient. 

Lucy hesitated, and her dark eyes began to show 
signs of displeasure. 

“ I don’t want to,” she said. 

“ Don’t you love Fanny 1 ” 

“Yes, I do; but must I mind her.^^” 

“In this’ case, you must, Lucy. She does not ask 
you to do what is not proper and easy for you.” 


184 SOW/NG AND WAITING. 

“ She ain’t my mother,” aiguecl the child. 

‘‘No; I’m not your mother, yet you think it’s 
proper to obey me.” 

“You are Anna’s and Lillie’s mother ; Aunt Fanny 
is n’t anybody’s mother.” 

“Aunt Fanny is Anna’s and Lillie’s teacher, and 
they obey her.” 

“ I ’ll pick up the book if you ’ll tell me to do it.” 

“ No, you must do as I say, or go back to your room 
until you obey Aunt Fanny.” 

Lucy’s pride had not been subdued, therefore she 
was obliged to return to her solitude. She shut the 
door violently and began to cry. Tea-time came, but 
she did not make her appearance, as she was not in a 
mood to comply with the terms of release. After 
supper the children were indulged in plays in which 
their mother and Fanny joined, and in which they 
always engaged with pleasure. No one had entered 
into these sports with greater delight than Lucy. 
She heard the joyous laugh of the children, and 
wished she could join them, and at the thought of 
their happiness and her own misery she began to cry, 
but her stubborn pride would not yield. The sports 
ended, then came the time for family worship, and 
Lucy heard the singing and then the subdued tone of 
Mrs. Howard as she led the family in their devotions, 
and wondered whether she would be left alone all 
night. How could she ask God to take tare of her 
when she was so naughty } Would n’t He put her 


SPRING. 185 

to death, and then she would never see her papa 
again ? 

‘‘O dear, O dear, how dreadful ! But I don't want 
to pick up the book. I don’t want to ask Aunt 
Fanny to forgive me,” and her tears and sobs were 
renewed. ^ 

As long as Mrs. Howard heard Lucy she purposely 
refrained from visiting her ; but when she heard no 
sound from her room she thought the child might 
have fallen asleep, and went to see if this was true ; 
but she had thrown herself upon the bed, and was 
still awake. When she saw Mrs. Howard she burst 
into tears, and placing her arms about her, sobbed 
violently, saying : - 

“ I will be a good girl, and mind Aunt Fanny if you 
will let me come out.” 

Mrs. Howard raised her in her arms, and kissing 
her, carried Lucy to Fanny, who had been pleading 
for and weeping over her obstinate little pupil. 

When the child saw Fanny in tears, her obstinacy 
entirely gave way. 

‘‘ I ’m sorry I have been a naughty girl. I ’ll never 
do so again if you ’ll love me. I will take up my book.” 

It had been left where she had thrown it. Sliding 
down from her teacher’s arms, she cheerfully took up 
the obnoxious volume. It was a great triumph, and 
her next spasm of anger was less violent and pro- 
longed. 

When their daily tasks were finished, the children 


1 86 SOmjVG AND PVA/T/NG. 

were indulged in a ramble in the fields and woods, on 
pleasant days, with Fanny, and sometimes Mrs. 
Howard. This was a reward for diligence in their 
studies and good behavior, and to be deprived of the 
enjoyment was considered a severe punishment. Oc- 
casionally some one of the group, whose conduct had 
been particularly unbecoming, was left at home to 
repent in solitude, but the chastisement was so severe 
that it was not necessary to repeat it often. The 
excursionists always carried a basket in which to 
deposit specimens of flowers, mosses, leaves, pine 
cones, acorns, pieces of stone, or any other object of 
interest found in their rambles, and from these gath- 
ered treasures Mrs. Howard selected specimens as * 
subjects for instructing her children. She was never 
at a loss for themes, as Nature has opened so vast and 
varied a library for her students. The insect species 
furnished a great variety of lessons to her young 
pupils, as well as the vegetable kingdom. 

About forty rods from Glen Cottage was a brook 
named Cowslip Run, on account of the large number 
of cowslips on its banks. This brook, never dry, even 
in the warmest season, contained a large number of 
trout, and in one part of its course it was deep and 
broad, affording a favorite resort for the fishes. Here 
the children were accustomed to resort, to feed the 
** ’ittle fisses,^* as Lillie said ; so every day some 
crumbs of bread and all the flies which could be col- 
lected, were carried to the brook for that purpose. 


SPJ^ING. 


187 


The fishes were very tame and would come to receive 
their daily food without fear, since no angler had 
invaded their quiet pool. In th?s shady retreat, the 
children would spend hours, for below the pool the 
water was so shallow they could wade in it with safety. 
They would remove their shoes and stockings and go 
into the stream, and sometimes take an involuntary 
bath by slipping on the smooth pebbles, but they had 
never received any harm beyond a thorough drench- 
ing, as they were not allowed to go to the brook 
unattended by some older person. 

One day Lucy went with Arthur to the brook with- 
out Mrs. Howard’s* knowledge, and as they were 
playing on the brink of the pool, she fell in, where 
the water was too deep for Arthur to wade, and 
he could not swim. What could he do He was 
much frightened and thought of running back to the 
house for help, but in the mean time Lucy might be 
drowned before anyone could get there. He noticed 
she was carried by the deep current towards the 
shallow part of the stream, and by wading as far as it 
■might be safe, he could seize hold of her dress and 
draw her to the shore. His plan was the best that 
could be adopted, and he succeeded in rescuing the 
child from drowning. When he reached the bank of 
the stream he thought she was dead. Her tangled 
and dripping hair fell over her shoulders, her eyes 
were closed, and she was unconscious. Arthur began 
to weep, for he felt that he had done wrong in taking 


i88 


SOWING AND WAIl'ING. 


her to the brook, and allowing her to fall in. He had 
heard of persons being restored to life after they were 
supposed to be drowned, and thought if he could only 
get her to the cottage, her friends might restore her ; 
therefore he would try to carry her to the house. 
With some difficulty he raised her in his arms and 
started up the steep bank. In their sports he had 
often done this without much difficulty, but now she 
seemed twice as heavy, and he thought he could never 
bear such a burden. When about half way home, he 
met Fanny who, having missed the children, went in 
pursuit of them. There was great commotion at the 
Cottage, when Lucy was brought there insensible, but 
remedies were applied which soon restored her to 
consciousness. After this accident, she and Arthur 
were less inclined to disputes. He treated her with 
more gentleness, and she was more willing to yield to 
his guidance. The event had an influence felt many 
years after, and Lucy always spoke of it as the time 
when she was drowned. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE YOUNG FOLKS. 

“ Green the land is where my daily 
Steps in jocund childhood played.” 

Anna Howard on certain occasions had manifested 
a selfish disposition, attended by a sullen spirit if her 
wishes were not gratified. This fault became more 
prominent, and Mrs. Howard felt that some forcible 
lesson was needed to correct it. The children had 
been promised a May party as soon as the weather 
was suitable for them to play out of doors. They 
were allowed to invite some of the neighbor’s children 
and one of the party was to be May Queen. Anna 
had adopted the plan with great satisfaction, as she 
expected to be Queen, a right she claimed, though 
she had not been promised that honor. The question 
was, however, settled before the time of the party in 
a manner unexpected to Anna. Willie Howard was 
just beginning to walk, and his awkward attempts 
greatly amused the other children. His little babyish 
ways made him a coveted prize both to Anna and 
Lucy, when their rival claims occasionally led to dis- 
putes as to which should have the baby. Anna 
argued that he belonged to her,. because he was her 
(189) 


190 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


brother, while Lucy urged her right to him on the 
ground that his mother was her mother since she 
came to live at the Cottage. One day a contest was 
waged between the claimants, when little Willie was 
in danger of great injury, as each combatant held one 
of his hands. The mother came to the rescue and 
took the child away, when Anna withdrew in a sullen 
mood, and Lucy, having got over her angry feelings, 
went to comfort her. 

“ Don*t cry, Anna,^’ said she, we can play with 
our dolls to-day, and to-morrow we can have the 
baby/’ 

Go away,” said Anna, he is n’t your brother. If 
you had n’t come here, I could have him all to myself.” 

Lucy’s fruitless efforts and chilling repulse led Mrs. 
Howard to see that some remedy must be applied to 
cure Anna’s fault, therefore she took her aside for a 
moral lesson. She explained and illustrated the sin 
of selfishness, and told her how grieved she was to 
see her little daughter so often guilty of it, and she 
was sorry and ashamed to see her treat Lucy so rudely. 
She ought to be happy that she loved Willie so much ; 
she had no dear little brother or sister to love and no 
mamma to love her, and that it was very unkind to 
wish her to go away. Mrs. Howard then told Anna 
she must punish her for her fault by not allowing her 
to be Queen of May, but that Lucy should be instead. 
Anna felt very keenly about the punishment, for she 
had anticipated much pleasure in acting in that 


THE YOUNG FOLKS. 


I9I 

capacity, and had talked about it with much pride. 
Her mother knew it would be a great disappointment 
to refuse her the honor, therefore she had a struggle 
in her own heart between parental love and duty. 
Anna had been an obedient child, but her selfishness 
needed a check. She promised to be a better girl if 
her mother would only allow her to be Queen. 

‘‘ My dear child, it is very hard for me to refuse you 
the honor, but it seems necessary for your good, there- 
fore you must allow Lucy to occupy the position, and, 
when I find you have conquered your fault, I shall be 
happy to indulge you in some other way which will 
satisfy you for your disappointment.” 

‘‘ Must I go to the party ? Can’t I stay at home 

“O yes, if you choose. But now you must ask 
Lucy to forgive you, but you cannot ask your Heavenly 
Father to care for you to night if you feel unkindly 
towards her.” 

Anna did as she was told, but she felt the disap- 
pointment, and regarded Lucy as her rival. 

The children were to have a week’s vacation, and 
preparations were made for their amusement, during 
the time. The services of Henry Walton were secured, 
to make their party as interesting as possible. Not 
far from Glen Cottage was a grove which had been 
the favorite resort for Mrs. Howard and her family, 
during the warm weather. In one part there was a 
mossy bank overshadowed by a growth of trees. 
By some effort, Henry had brought the supple 


192 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


branches together and fastened them, thus forming a 
leafy arch above. He then constructed several rustic 
seats which Fanny adorned with moss. In front of 
this mound was a level space, sufficient for the chil- 
dren’s sports, while in the rear of the arbor was room 
for the table to be placed for the entertainment. 

Lucy sent invitations to her father and cousin 
Alice, while Anna invited her young friends in the 
neighborhood, and there was to be singing by the 
children, who had previously been instructed by 
Fanny. Mrs. Howard had furnished the tables, while 
Aunt Jenny did not allow the opportunity to pass 
for contributing to the happiness of others. Arthur 
was to be the Queen’s attendant and, proud of the 
distinction, he acquitted himself gallantly. Dr. Clive 
came at an early hour with Alice who had been in. 
vited to spend some time at the Cottage with the 
hope that a change might improve her health. The 
day was warm and beautiful being the last of May, 
when the climate would admit of out-door recreations 
without detriment to health, and when Nature assumes 
her freshness tempting her votaries to her altar. 

Anna, Lucy, and Lillie were dressed in white, 
Lucy wearing scarlet ribbons, and the others blue. 
A beautiful garland of violets had been prepared to 
adorn the queen, and laid on a bed of damp moss 
until the occasion called for its use. When Lucy was 
presented to her father, dressed for the party, with 
her large, dark eyes sparkling with animation, her 


THE YOUNG FOLKS 


193 


rich curls and fair brow, his heart beat with pride and 
affection at seeing her grace and beauty. She was in 
her happiest mood, and the Doctor was frequently 
reminded of the lost mother whom she so nearly 
resembled in looks and manners. It was a severe 
struggle for little Anna when she saw Lucy the chief 
object of attraction. A contest had been going on in 
her mind ever since her mother told her she could 
not be the Queen of the party, whether she would 
join the company or stay at home ; but when she saw 
the preparations going forward and every one inter- 
ested, she could not resist the impulse to join them. 
Her mother, aware of the struggle in her heart, con- 
sidered it best to allow her to follow her own course. 
The night before the party she told her mother she 
would like to go to the grove with the other children, 
and that she would try to be good and love Lucy. 
This was a partial relief to Mrs. Howard who would 
have regretted Anna’s absence, but who felt she must 
carry out her plan if she would not lose the advan- 
tage gained or which she hoped to win. 

The children had never attended a May festival be- 
fore and the pleasure it afforded was as new as it was 
gratifying. They enjoyed with the zest of child- 
hood the singing, the sports, and especially the re- 
freshments provided for them, so when they returned 
to their homes, they were sure they never had had any- 
thing so delightful ; that Mrs. Howard was the best 
woman in the world ; that Fanny Sherwood was 


194 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


charming, and that Dr. Clive had said the funniest 
things they had ever heard. 

Mrs. Howard had been closely observing Anna 
during the day, and saw the tears that would some- 
times fill her eyes and the strong effort she made to 
repress them ; and when she noticed her daughter go 
to Lucy and kiss her, the mother's heart yearned to 
embrace her child. After the company had retired, 
she took Anna in her arms and wept, and when the 
daughter saw how her mother felt and suffered on her 
account, she expressed regret at having caused her 
grief, and promised to try and overcome her fault. 

At the time in which the events of the story oc- 
curred, the manufacture of cotton goods, and to a 
considerable extent woolen fabrics, was superseding 
those of domestic production ; still, some farmers 
adhered to the old method of raising flax and wool 
for home consumption, and among their number was 
Mr. Walton. Every spring a large supply of flax 
was dressed for spinning and weaving which required 
much labor and various processes to change the 
plant into cloth fit for use, and no little skill and 
patient labor from the farmers and their wives and 
daughters were required. The flax, after being pulled 
up from the ground, was placed where the moisture 
through the winter would render the stocks easily 
broken by a machine called a brake," in order to 
separate the fibres from the stem, when it was 
hatchelled," as it was called, a process by which the 


THE YOUNG FOLKS. 


195 


tow ” was removed from the flax. This was carded 
and spun on what was called *‘a large wheel,” 
while the flax was spun on a “ little wheel,” turned 
by the foot. 

During the season of “spinning and weaving,” Mrs. 
Walton was assisted by a girl hired for the purpose, 
while weaving the flax into linen cloth was performed 
by her own hands. 

It was a busy time at the farmhouse of Mr. 
Walton, when one day the children at Glen Cottage 
were invited to see Arthur's mother spin and weave. 
It was no novelty to the Howard children, but Lucy 
had never seen much of farm life, and a visit to the 
Waltons afforded her great pleasure. There were 
so many new things to be seen, and Aunt Jenny 
took so much pains to make her happy, always taking 
her part in her disputes with Arthur, that these visits 
were often repeated. 

On this occasion, Mrs. Walton was spinning flax, 
and Mary Allen, tow. 

“ See Lucy,” said Arthur, “ see how these flyers go. 
You can't catch them.” 

Lucy, who never received* a challenge without 
accepting it, extended her hand to stop the buzzing 
spindle, but fortunately was arrested by Mrs. Wal- 
ton, in time to save her fingers from being badly 
lacerated. 

‘‘ What a naughty boy you are,” said his mother, 
“ Do you want to hurt the child ? ” 


196 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


‘‘ I did n’t think she would do it.” 

Lucy has never seen so ^much of spinning and 
weaving as you have.” 

While Lucy stood looking intently at the wheel, 
thinking it very wonderful, what should make it go 
round, Arthur quietly wound one of her curls around 
a button on his jacket. Soon she saw something that 
interested her and darted off with characteristic 
impetuosity, but found herself suddenly checked. 
Nothing will irritate a quick temper like having the 
hair pulled, therefore she was very indignant, while in 
her efforts to free herself, she only increased her 
trouble. Mrs. Walton came to her rescue, and after 
some delay succeeded in releasing the struggling 
captive. Arthur received a box on the ear, but that 
did not appease Lucy’s anger, when she rushed at 
Arthur who, pretending to be alarmed, ran about the 
room pursued by the irritated child. Suddenly turn- 
ing, Arthur caught her in his arms, and this increased 
her anger, and when released, she bestowed upon her 
tormentor kicks and blows to no purpose. 

In the midst of the tumult, Mr. Walton came into 
the room and said, “*What ’s all this noise about.? 
Arthur, what are you doing.?” He had released 
Lucy, and they both stood quietly, looking at Mr. 
Walton. 

was having a little fun, father. Lucy and I 
love each other very much.” 

** I don’t love you,” she replied, snapping her black 


THE YOUNG FOLKS. 


197 

eyes, but was restrained from making any further 
war-like demonstration by Mr. Walton's presence. 

‘‘ Go to the garden, Arthur ; Henry has work for 
you. Lucy, don’t you want to see the little pigs ? " 

The transition from anger to joy was as rapid in 
Lucy's feelings as an electric flash. Her scowl gave 
place to a smile, when she said she did wish to see 
them. 

‘‘May me go too.^" spoke a little voice from a 
corner. 

“Is that you, Lillie, my pet.^ Come here," taking 
her in his arms. “ Have you come to live with me ? " 

“ Mamma tould n't spare me." 

“Then you must give me a kiss." She placed her 
little arms around his neck and kissed him. “Now 
you shall ride on my shoulders to see the pigs. 
Anna and Lucy may go on foot." 

Before they arrived at the barn where the pigs 
were kept, Arthur, who could not work while any 
sport was going on, joined the company, and he played 
“tag" with Lucy on friendly terms. There were six 
little white pigs. 

“ Oh, what pfetty little piggies," said she. “ I wish 
I could take one’ of them,‘'at the same time she began 
to climb to the top of the pen. 

“Where are you going inquired Arthur. 

“To get one of the pigs." 

“ No, you must n't, the old mother will bite you," said 
Mr. Walton. 


198 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“ Will she ? O, take me down quick,” screamed 
Lucy, as the old hog came towards her with open 
mouth. 

“ There, now, you are safe,” placing her on the barn 
floor. ‘‘ You must never try to get into a pigsty again.” 

“ See these calves,” said Anna. ‘‘ How they love 
to run.” 

Arthur had slipped into their enclosure and released 
the four sleek calves from their moorings. They 
were running back and forth and seemed delighted 
for the opportunity to strengthen their limbs. 

As the party left the barn the old gobbler stood 
ready to escort them with his pompous strut and 
noise, much to the terror of the children. Arthur 
had been in the habit of teasing him so that he 
became very pugnacious and would attack anyone 
who was afraid of him. He was feared by all the 
children of the neighborhood, and Mr. Walton had 
threatened him with capital punishment. 

Let us go down to the brook and see the goslings,” 
said Arthur. 

The brook was not far from the barn, and thither 
the parent geese piloted their young charge, almost 
as soon as they burst from the egg-shell, to test their 
aquatic powers. Two gray geese and two white gan- 
ders had been the parent stock on the Walton farm, 
for several years, while additions made yearly to the 
family had been disposed of, a part to supply the 
dinner table of some epicure, others to set up house- 



THE YOUNG FOLKS. 


199 


keeping on different farms, while many an unlucky 
wanderer had been seized by that foe of domestic 
fowls, the fox. 

As the children approached the brook they saw 
with delight the old geese and a flock of goslings that 
looked like a mass of yellow down, all swimming 
gracefully around their parents. 

O see, the doose puts his hands behind him,’' 
said Lillie. 

“ Those are his feet,” remarked Anna. Don’t 
you see his toes are joined together so he can use 
them to swim } ” 

Can you swim, Arthur ” inquired Lucy. 

“ Not much, but Henry can,” 

Then his toes are joined } ” 

“ How silly ! Boys don’t swim like a goose,” replied 
Arthur, somewhat piqued. 

He removed his shoes and stockings and waded 
into the pool of still water and took up a handful of 
little creatures. 

** What have you got, Arthur } ” 

“ Don’t you know what polliwogs are } Where 
have you lived all your days } Take them.” 

No,” said Lucy, shrinking from them. 

** Let me see the wolly-pogs,” said Lillie, holding 
out her hand. 

Arthur placed them in it, but they were too slip- 
pery to stay, and glided to the ground, where they 
wriggled for a time. 


200 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


** O, do put them into the water again/’ pleaded 
Anna. 

“They will die.” 

“ I want them to die,” said Arthur. “ They kill 
^ goslings.” 

“ How can these little things kill goslings ? ” 

“ Why, the goslings eat them, and it causes their 
‘ death.” 

“ The polliwogs become frogs, and we like to hear 
them sing,” replied Anna. 

“ How do the little frogs sing ” inquired Arthur. 

“It ’s deep, it ’s deep !” said Anna. 

“ How do the big frogs sing ? ” 

“ Then you may go round,” imitating the sounds of 
the frogs as nearly as she could. 

The children amused themselves until supper-time, 
when Henry was sent for them. They returned to 
the house, and were surprised to find Mrs. Howard, 
Alice, Fanny, and Willie already there. Faces and 
hands must be washed and straggling locks brushed, 
before the little party was presentable at table. 

Mrs. Howard had been very careful to teach her 
children to behave well at table. Good manners at 
meals, she maintained, was a proof of one’s breeding. 
To be slovenly, awkward, and rude there made others 
uncomfortable and disgusted. It was a duty to teach 
a child old enough to sit at table to behave with pro- 
priety. and if any of her family transgressed her rules, 
after being duly instructed, she was at once sent away 


THE YOUNG FOLKS. 


201 


to finish her meal alone, after the others had finished 
theirs. Some parents ex;cuse their negligence by 
saying that when the children become older they will 
be ashamed of their ill manners and correct them, 
without taking into account the discomfort of others, 
or the mortification it causes the children in later times. 

No housekeeper was ever annoyed to have the 
Howard children sit at her table, or to come into her 
parlor for fear of having articles misplaced, as they 
were never allowed to take into their hands anything 
not their own, without permission. 

Master Willie was permitted to join the others at 
tea, and Arthur’s high-chair had been brought from 
the attic for the purpose. 

‘‘ It ’s a beautiful sight,” said Mr. Walton, ‘‘ to see 
so many pretty and well-behaved children around the 
table. See, mother,” addressing his wife, ‘‘ how many 
house-flowers you have. These little girls are pret- 
tier than any lossoms you have in your garden.” 

His love for little girls was intense, especially after 
the loss of their daughters. Anna had been fre- 
quently at his home, and Henry was fond of her. 
He liked her quiet ways and was pleased with her 
intelligence, while she regarded him as an older 
brother. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 

I 

“ She folded up the dream in her deep heart, 

Her fair, full lips were silent on that smart.” 

Alice and Fanny, after the first sensation of jeal- 
ousy, gradually became firm friends. They liked 7 

each other at first, on Clive’s account. Alice liked 
Fanny because Clive djd, and Fanny loved Alice 
because she was his cherished friend ; but as the two 
girls became more intimately acquainted, a stronger >. 

tie of friendship bound them together. Fanny’s vi- ) 

vacity and uniform cheerfulness had a salutary influ- ^ 

ence on Alice, while the affectionate and confiding | 

disposition of Alice, her patient suffering and loneli- 
ness, won the sympathy and admiration of everyone. 

Mrs. Howard discovered that she was suffering from 
a depression of spirits, for, naturally ingenuous, even 
to a fault, it was difficult for her to conceal her real 
feelings even from her intimate friends, whom they 
so nearly concerned. However, she resolutely deter- 
mined to hide her secret, cost what it might, for she 
believed the happiness of Clive and Fanny more or 
less depended upon it. Had they understood her 
purpose, it would have been an occasion of deep 
(202) 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


203 


regret, and might have caused them unhappiness, as 
Alice thought it would. It may seem incredible that 
she could be friendly to one who was unconsciously 
reminding her of the hidden sorrow ; yet it was a 
pleasure to Alice to be near Fanny and trying to 
promote her happiness. 

Letters passed frequently between Clive and Fanny, 
and Alice, also, received them from her friend, who 
addressed her in the same kind, genial manner of 
their early days. In this way she was constantly 
reminded of the time when they regarded each other 
with brotherly and sisterly affection. Mrs. Howard 
noticed that Alice always seemed depressed in spirits 
after hearing from Clive, and absorbed with her own 
thoughts. One day they were in the arbor when 
Henry brought them letters, each bearing the same 
postmark and written in the same hand. There was 
no doubt from whom they came. Fanny eagerly 
broke the seal and read the magical words of her 
letter, while Alice gazed long and musingly on hers, 
but instead of opening it at once, she placed it in her 
pocket. 

‘‘ Alice, where 's your letter } Have you not read 
it } said Fanny. 

‘‘ Not yet. I thought I would wait until you had 
read yours.” 

“ What a strange little prude you are, Alice. 
When I get a letter I can hardly wait to open it, I 'm 
so anxious to read it. I have some news to tell you. 


204 


SOPV/NG AND WAITING, 


Perhaps Clive has written the same to you. Please 
open your letter and see.” 

Alice drew forth her letter and read it. ‘‘ I don't 
find anything specially important. What is in your 
letter.?” 

“ I 've a mind not to tell you for a day or two, Miss 
Propriety.” 

“ I haven’t the same reason for being in haste that 
Birdie has, and as to the news, it will not distress me 
very much if I do wait.” 

“ Seeing you care so little about it, I ’ll tell you, 
then ; Clive is coming to Jefferson in his vacation, to 
see his cousins, of course. Besides, he will be accom- 
panied by his friend, Paul Crawford, to see — well, 
the fine scenery,” looking archly at Alice. “ Craw- 
ford is to go to the lake, he says, but Clive doesn’t 
say whether he intends to accompany his friend.” 

Of course he does n’t. Do you suppose there is 
nothing here more attractive than the lake .? He 
could not leave his enchantress long enough for that.” 

How singular if both Paul *and Clive should 
become enchanted,” replied Fanny. 

** Here is my letter, you may read it, lest you become 
jealous,” said Alice. 

Fanny read the letter and returning it said, “It is 
just like him, so noble, kind and thoughtful. 

“Fanny, you do not fully understand Clive yet.? 
do not be surprised, I mean his virtues. We have 
been friends from childhood, and I believe there are 


THE TWO FRIENDS, 


205 

few men like him. His devotion to his mother is the 
promise of what he will be to his wife.’* 

Dear, generous Alice, I love you for this. It is 
just what I think of Clive. Do you expect me to 
allow you to read my letter, as I have read yours 

“ No, Fanny, it would be wrong. What passes be- 
tween lovers should never be read by other people. 
When the secrets of the heart are revealed, it would 
be sacrilege for others to behold.” 

There ’s noble Alice again. May you know from 
experience how to appreciate so generous a sentiment.” 

‘‘My dear Fanny, there are mysteries connected 
with our private histories, I cannot understand, and 
did I not believe our Heavenly Father is supremely 
good, I might doubt his justice in some of his dealings 
with his children.” 

“ Clive told me you had lost your father and a 
devoted mother.” 

“Yes ; I feel alone in the world,; but loss of friends 
is not the greatest affliction that may come to us, 
for we hope to be united to them in a better world ; 
but there are some troubles for which there seems to 
be no remedy.” 

“Will not our Heavenly Father send one.^ ” 

“Aunt Fanny, Cousin Alice, come to tea,” said a 
voice, and Lucy came rushing towards the two 
friends, while her ringing laugh startled the birds 
from their coverts. 

Mrs. Howard believed a home without flowers 


20f 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


would be wanting in one of the most agreeable sources 
of pleasure, therefore, from her first settlement in 
her new hom^e, she gave some portion of her time to 
their cultivation. In this employment, she was joined 
by her husband, who believed that a few minutes 
devoted to the occupation were not lost. Within a few 
years after their settlement at the Cottage, they had 
the pleasure of seeing it surrounded with ornamental 
trees, while the plot of ground assigned to the growth 
of flowers was tastefully adorned with a variety of 
plants. The children imbibed their mother’s love of 
flowers. 

Henry Walton assisted in preparing the flower 
beds, while Mrs. Howard and Fanny planted the 
seeds, transplanted the roots, and arranged them to 
their tastes. 

What are you going to do with these sunflower 
seeds, Paulina ” inquired Fanny. 

‘‘ Plant them beyond this wall. They must stand 
in the rear, as they would be too obtrusive in front.” 

‘‘ Why plant them at all } Sunflowers are so large 
and conspicuous ; I do not see any beauty in them,” 
said Fanny. 

“ It seems to me that the sunflower ought to belong 
to the genus heliotrope instead of the helianthus, 
since it turns itself to the god of day, and follows 
him though his course,” said Alice. “You know the 
story of the beautiful Clytie.^” 

“ What is it ? ” inquired Fanny. 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


207 


‘‘ She pined and died on account of her love of 
Apollo, and was transformed into a heliotrope, accord- 
ing to some versions of the story, and according to 
others, into a sunflower.” 

‘‘That is a pretty story, though sad for the poor 
nymph,” said Fanny. “I will never again despise 
the sunflower, but I prefer to think that the goddess 
was changed into the little modest, fragrant flower 
known as the heliotrope.” 

“For a better reason I prefer the sunflower,” said 
Mrs. Howard, “Harvey always liked to see it grow- 
ing. He said it was an emblem of the Christian's faith. 
Christ is the Sun of Righteousness, and the Christian 
turns towards him just as this flower does to the 
natural sun.” 

“See kitty sitting up on her feet watching the 
butterfly,” said Anna, “but she can't reach it. See 
how high it flies ! ” 

“The butterfly is descending to kitty,” observed 
Mrs. Howard. 

After flying around the kitten several times, coming 
nearer each time, it was within pussy's reach, when 
she gave a spring and seized the poor little victim. 

“Tliis is an object lesson to teach us how foolish it 
is to run needlessly into danger,” said Fanny. 

“Yes ; and into temptation,” added Mrs. Howard, 
“as was the case with Amelia Hayford.” 

“ What about her ” inquired her sister. 

“ I will relate her history after the children are 


208 


SOWING AND WAITING. . 


asleep. It is a sad one, and I fear may have a tragi- 
cal end. She was at Mr. Walton's the other day, and 
that was the reason I thought of her when you spoke 
of the butterfly." 

As soon as the season was suitable Mrs. Howard 
planted flowers and shubbery about her husband’s 
grave, and placed a modest stone with a simple in- 
scription to mark the spot. Burying places in the 
country were sadly neglected ; rude fences or 
stone walls falling down in places formed their only 
protection against stray cattle, while blackberry- 
bushes, wild cherry-trees, spruces, and ferns grew in 
profusion among the graves. Not one was decorated 
with flowers ; not a shade tree had been planted by 
the hand of affection in the cemetery where Harvey 
Howard's remains were buried until his wife had 
them planted there. The neighbors considered it a 
whimsical fancy, utterly useless. 

“ What possible good can it do to the dead ? " said 
they. ‘‘ One can mourn for them just as much, while 
the departed can neither know anything about trees 
or flowers." 

“We are not sure of that," replied Mrs. Howard. 
“It may be they know something of the home and 
friends they have left, and it may add to their happi- 
ness that they are not forgotten ; besides it keeps them 
fresh in our memories to be offering these little mem- 
entoes to their worth. It makes us feel they are not 
dead, only gone away, and that they will be restored 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


209 


to US at some future time/' One day as Mrs. Howard 
was preparing fresh flowers for her husband’s grave, 
Fanny inquired whether she might accompany her, 
when her sister hesitated. 

understand, you do not wish it, Paulina. You 
wish to be alone when communing with the departed, 
speaking metaphorically.” 

“ Not exactly that. Cannot you sometimes seem- 
ingly hold communication with your absent friends } ” 

“ I often do, especially those I dearly love.” 

“Yes, and Harvey is only absent to my sight. 
When at his grave, I feel that could I only lift the 
veil, I should see him.” 

“These are consoling .thoughts,” said Alice, who 
had been listening with fixed attention. “ I often 
wish I could visit my dear mother’s grave. Oh, how I 
miss her.” The tears were in her eyes which fell upon 
the wreath of flowers she had gathered for her friend 
who took the flowers and, tenderly kissing her, 
said : — 

“ We are companions in sorrow ; let us try to bear 
each other’s burdens, and thus lighten our own.” 

Instead of depressing her spirits, a visit to her hus- 
band’s grave was consolation and strength to Mrs. 
Howard. She there renewed her consecration to her 
life-work, and whenever her burdens were very de- 
pressing, she would repair to the sacred spot and 
receive fresh courage. 


CHAPTER XX. 


FARM LIFE. 

The farmer’s life displays in every part 
A moral lesson to the sensual heart.” 


Most farmers kept sheep for their own use, and a 
few had large flocks to supply wool for the market. 
The practice of ‘‘washing the sheep” as it was called, 
before shearing them, was an event of some impor- 
tance \nd excitement, especially to the boys. As 
soon as the weather was warm enough, the farmers 
made preparations for “ the washing ” which was gen- 
erally done in companies uniting together, when 
several flocks mingled and their owners joined in the 
labor, until all the sheep had been bathed. 

The children were promised the pleasure of witness- 
ing the scene, which was to them a novelty. The 
day was bright and warm. A temporary fold had 
been constructed on the banks of Bell Brook, and 
thither the flocks of several of the neighbors were 
driven. Each owner^s initial letter had been painted 
on his sheep, so that the W’s, the C's, the A’s, etc., 
were known to belong to Walton, Cutler, Allen, or 
others. John and Henry Walton assisted in the “rush- 
ing,” but Arthur had his father’s directions to care 
( 210 ) 


FA/^Af LIFE, 


21 1 


for the little girls, and keep out of mischief. The 
latter injunction was disregarded. 

^‘Arthur, see that Lion*' — the dog — “is shut up. 
We don’t want his services.” But when the time came, 
Lion could not be found. With a dog’s instincts he 
had preceded the company and was starting up the 
birds and squirrels, rods ahead. Arthur felt he must 
pretend to drive the dog back, so he whistled and 
called, not very loudly, to be sure ; but Lion, usually 
obedient to the wishes of his young master, only 
stopped, looked at him, scratched the ground, and 
barked around an old stump for an imaginary weasel, 
then started off over the fence into the pasture taking 
the shortest course to the brook, as if he understood 
perfectly well what all the preparations meant. 

Arthur gave up the attempt to drive Lion back, 
though he was glad that the dog insisted upon going. 
He thought it would be such nice fun to have him 
swoop down upon the flock, and see the sheep scour 
across the pasture, pell mell. 

The sheep, some more than one hundred, with half 
as many lambs, were all crowded into the pen, trem- 
bling and bleating, not knowing what would be their 
fate, while the little lambs, separated from their 
mothers, cried most piteously. The washers would 
seize a victim, mute and unresisting, drag it up and 
down through the water, until its fleece was thoroughly 
drenched, when it was brought to land, and another 
took its place, the lambs keeping up their crying all 


212 


SOmNG AND WAITING. 


the time. The sheep evidently did not relish their 
involuntary ablutions, for they stood shivering and 
looking miserable. What small brains they had were 
puzzled, for they did not seem to know their own 
offspring. 

The children pitied the lambs and their frightened 
mothers, and wept as they witnessed the scene. Lucy 
said she did not want to see them drown the sheep, 
and she would go home, while Anna thought it was 
wicked to treat the poor creatures so. They both 
went home, leaving Arthur to enjoy the scene, who, 
being relieved of some part of his responsibility, 
thought a little “ fun ” would come in nicely. Lion 
had been on his good behavior though he was restless 
with an eager desire to join in the sport, but Mr. 
Walton had before noticed his presence. Arthur 
whispered in the dog’s ear when instantly he was in 
the midst of the flock on the bank of the stream. 
The consternation of the sheep and lambs was beyond 
control. Their fear only stimulated Lion and it re- 
quired all the men to check .him, but nothing could 
calm the frightened sheep. Mr. Walton understood 
the cause of the disturbance, and though not often 
angry with Arthur for his mischievous pranks, 
yet Mihen the boy disobeyed him as in this instance, 
he sometimes felt what he considered a ‘‘ righteous 
indignation.” He did not indulge in harsh language, 
but restraining his feelings he quietly said, “ Arthur, 
go home and I will see you when I return.” The 


LIFE. 


21 ^ 


boy understood what that meant, but excused his 
conduct to himself, by thinking he had tried to drive 
Lion back but he would not go, and that he did n't 
suppose the sheep would be afraid of him. 

He dreaded the time when his father would come 
home, but hoped he might forget his implied threat. 
“He won't though, he never does," the boy said to him- 
self. He did not tell his mother what had occurred, but 
he appeared more thoughtful, and was so anxious to 
please her, she imagined there was something wrong. 

The “sheep washers" did not finish their labors 
until the afternoon, and when Mr. Walton returned, 
Arthur became more anxious ; but when he per- 
ceived no difference in .his father's manner towards 
him, hoped he had forgiven his boy. The time for 
supper came and the father was cheerful as usual. 
When relating the events of the day, no allusion was 
made to Arthur’s conduct, arid though the boy watched 
him closely, he could not detect a single glance of 
the eye that would lead him to suppose the morning's 
affair was remembered. After their meal was over 
and Aunt Jenny was busy with her domestic cares, 
Mr. Walton said in a low and gentle voice, “Arthur, 
we will go to the barn." What happened there was 
a secret between Arthur and his father. There were 
no loud words, no discordant sounds of any kind, but 
there were traces of tears on the boy's cheeks when 
he returned to the house, and a prompt, cheerful 
obedience for a long time after. No father was re- 


214 


SOIVING AND WAITING. 


spected and loved by his sons more than Mr. Walton, 
and no one was, perhaps, more exacting in requiring 
implicit obedience than he. The love of his children 
was based on respect for him and his parental authority, 
which they could not have felt had he weakly yielded. 

After their fleeces were dry, the ‘‘ shearing of the 
sheep followed. This operation was performed in the 
barn, as follows : The sheep entered richly dressed in 
woolly clothing, looking plump and respectable, but, 
like some human beings who, after going through a 
‘‘fleecing” process by their fellow creatures, come 
from the hands of the “shearers ” destitute of cloth- 
ing, looking mean and poor. Sheep were not the 
only domestic animals stripped of their clothing every 
year. Geese underwent the same process several 
times in the course of the warm season, though in the 
case of the latter it was only partial. 

“ My geese must be ‘ picked,' ” said Mrs. Walton a 
few days after the “ shearing.” “ They are shedding 
all their feathers. Henry, drive them into the barn, 
and ril attend to them.” She then proceeded to 
relieve them of some of their superabundant feathers. 
One of the old ganders was first caught. He was 
a lusty fellow, and had fought many a battle with 
Reynard, and always conquered. He had led his flock 
more than a dozen years, always claiming the two 
geese as his wives, driving away his crest-fallen male 
companion ; therefore he made a violent resistance 
against the degradation of being “plucked.” 


FAI^Af LIFE, 


215 

Aunt Jenny tied his wings, and drew a stocking 
over his head to avoid his sharp bill, but the old 
warrior struggled until he gained control of his wings 
which he flopped so vehemently that he sent the 
feathers .flying in all directions. He bit his tor- 
menters in spite of the stocking, and when Aunt 
Jenny gave his feathers a more vigorous pull he 
cried, ‘‘Stop,'' “Stop." 

“ Give it to him, mother," said Henry. “ I should 
like to see him beaten for treating poor Dicky so:" 
This was the crest-fallen gander. 

It took some time to get through with the patri- 
arch, and when he was set free he was so ashamed 
and humbled that he never offered to fight Dicky 
for more than a month, while the latter had the un- 
speakable honor of waiting upon the geese without 
molestation. The rest of the flock submitted to the 
operation with less resistance. 


CHAPTER XXL 


MILLIE. 

** This love is of the brain, the mind, the soul.” 

. A FEW days after the conversation in the garden, 
when reference was made to Amelia Hayford, she 
made her appearance at the Cottage with her child. 

‘‘ Why, Millie, how did you get here with your 
baby } 

‘‘ He did n^t know we came. We rode on a sun- 
beam ; didn't we, baby There, there, ‘Hush, my 
child, lie still and slumber,' " singing the hymn to her 
babe. “He shan't carry you away. Love. We, baby 
and Millie, are going up there. He cannot come." 

“ Let me see your baby," said Mrs. Howard. 

“ You won’t give it to him, will you ? " 

“ Certainly not, Millie," taking the child from the 
mother's arms, and removing its outside clothing. 
“ What is your baby’s name ? " 

“ Love. He loved me once. They said he had a 
wife. Do they marry up there ? " 

“ The Bible says they do not, but are as the angels." 

“ He will not be an angel, then." 

Turning to Fanny, whom she had never seen before, 
she said, “ Do you know him ? " 

“ No.” 

(216) 


MILLIE, 


217. 

“ I thought you were his wife. They said she was 
pretty. Is that your baby ” referring to Willie 
Howard. 

‘‘ I have no baby. I am not married.” 

“ They say we were not married, but we were. He 
said he loved me then. Did you ever love any one, 
pretty lady ” 

Fanny blushed, and did not know what to say, 
when her sister told her to humor her fancy and give 
her an answer. 

“ Yes, Millie.” 

“ Did he go away } ” 

‘‘No.” 

“ But he will, dear ; don’t believe him.” 

After talking in this manner, half wild and inco- 
herent, she started to leave. 

“ Where are you going, Millie ? ” inquired Alice. 

“ Going up there. He can’t find us there. They 
won’t let him come.” 

“ Wait a while, and have tea with us,” said Mrs. 
Howard. She had secretly sent Arthur to his father 
for some one to conduct her home, fearing she might 
do some harm to herself and child. 

John Walton soon made his appearance with his 
wagon, but they had some difficulty at first to per- 
suade her to go with him. She protested, saying 
they would take her to him, but on being assured to 
the contrary, she consented, and was conveyed to her 
father. 


2i8 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Amelia was the youngest child of Deacon Hayford. 
She was pretty, but wilful, and had been much in- 
dulged by her fond parents, being the only child left 
at home. 

A year before, a stranger came to the village, who 
gave his name as Seymour Osborn, and claimed to be 
a land agent for a large and wealthy company in 
New York. He boarded at the hotel, and seemed to 
be very prodigal of his money. He appeared to be 
about thirty years of age, and was prepossessing in 
appearance, and with fascinating manners. 

Amelia was soon interested in the handsome 
stranger, and his special attentions to her won her 
heart. He would accompany her in her walks which 
became frequent and prolonged. They would stroll 
on the banks of the river by moonlight, when he 
would declare his love for her. These interviews 
had occurred some time before the parents became 
aware of them, when they forbade Amelia holding 
any further intercourse with him, until they were 
satisfied of his honorable intentions, and that he 
could give testimonials of his good character, as there 
were suspicious that he was not what he claimed to 
be. Amelia had never been denied whatever she 
desired, and now that her affections had become 
deeply involved, she was not disposed to yield her will 
to her parents. She met Osborn clandestinely, whose 
purpose at first was not to marry her, biit being 
opposed by her friends he determined to be avenged. 


MILLIE. 


219 


An elopement was planned, and they were married 
in a neighboring town. He took his bride to his 
boarding place where they remained six weeks, when 
one day a stranger appeared at the hotel, who had 
known something of Osborn's previous history. The 
next day the bridegroom absconded, leaving his bride, 
and unpaid bills. The stranger explained the cause 
of his unaccountable conduct. Osborn, who had 
assumed a false name, had embezzled the funds of the 
company, and, besides, had a wife and child in one of 
the Western cities. 

The news to poor Amelia was terrible, and with a 
broken heart, she sought refuge in her father s house. 
She became melancholy, and after the birth of her 
child, her despondency increased, until she lost her 
reason, though she had sane moments when she would 
talk as rationally as in former years. Her love for 
her infant was her strongest passion. She always 
spoke of Osborn as he, and her friends as they ; the 
child she called Love. After the birth of her infant, 
she would wander with it on the banks of the river, 
where her husband had often walked with her, and 
would sometimes be found there late at night with 
her infant closely folded in her arms, and at other 
times she would sit and gaze for hours into the water 
of the brook, talking to him or to her babe. Later, 
she wandered from her home, through fear that he 
would come for her child, and was constantly talking 
of going up there,” pointing to the skies. 


220 SOIV/NG AND tVAITING, 

About three weeks after her appearance at Glen 
Cottage, one day she was missing. The village was 
searched for the unfortunate one ; messengers were 
sent to every part of the town, but no traces of her 
could be found. After some days of fruitless search- 
ing, some one discovered a baby's hood on the bank 
of the stream, which proved to belong to Amelia's 
child. The truth was revealed: the insane mother 
had thrown herself and babe into the river, and both 
were drowned. Doubtless it was her desire to ‘‘go up 
there," as she expressed it, beyond the reach of her 
deceiver. 

The bodies were recovered after a long search, but 
the afflicted parents were nearly crushed under the 
fearful blow. The sad fate of one so young and 
promising cast a gloom over the whole village, but 
none of her acquaintances felt it so keenly as Alice. 
Ever after Amelia's cruel desertion, Alice had been 
to her a “ Sister of Charity." She had frequently 
visited her and tried to impart consolation to her 
wounded spirit. Before her reason was lost, Alice 
was encouraged to believe that Amelia found a resting 
place for her afflicted heart in the Saviour's tender love. 

After Fleety was sold, Mrs. Howard occasionally 
accompanied the Waltons to church. The Sabbath 
after the sad occurrences just narrated, Mr. Walton 
took his wife, Mrs. Howard, Anna, and Arthur to the 
village church in his family wagon. John walked^ 
and Henry remained at home to keep Fanny and 


MILLIE, 


221 


the younger children company. Alice and Lucy rode 
with Dr. Clive who called for them. Mr. Walton's car- 
riage was constructed for carrying a large number of 
passengers ; it had two seats, each affording accom- 
modation for three persons. The colt behaved well 
beside old Pete but never was trusted alone to carry 
women and children. True, he would frisk, caper, 
and sometimes throw up his heels when going down 
hill, and otherwise behave indecorously, much to the 
displeasure of old Pete, the terror of Aunt Jenny, 
and the amusement of Arthur, but no harm ever came 
from his antics. Lion always accompanied the 
family to church, and would mount the wagon seat, as 
guard, until the services were finished, when he gener- 
ally fell in the rear and trotted as demurely behind 
as any Puritan dog would, though on other days he 
would run, leap over fences and bark like others of 
his species. 

There was only one church in the town, though 
religious services were held in school-houses on Sun- 
days and occasionally on other days of the week. 
The meeting-house, as it was called, was a wooden 
building, painted white, with a row of sheds in the 
rear for the accommodation of the horses. The 
interior was without carpet or any decoration, while 
the pulpit was very high and looking as if made to 
check any oratorical display by the preacher, while 
the choir in the gallery opposite were much nearer 
heaven than the occupants in the pews below. 


222 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


A larger congregation than usual had assembled on 
account of the tragical event that had just occurred. 
Some came from sympathy, more from curiosity, while 
a few were present because they secretly rejoiced in 
the misfortunes of their superiors. It is a strange 
perversity of human nature that any one should 
exult over the misfortunes of others, but any one 
acquainted with the world is aware of the fact. When 
Deacon Hayford, with his silver locks, and form bowed 
with the double weight of grief and years, his stricken 
wife leaning upon his arm, entered the church, every 
eye turned to see them, and many cheeks were mois- 
tened with tears, and even the curious were moved to 
pity. Mr. Goodell’s subject was the sympathy of 
Jesus for the afflicted. The sernion was comforting 
to those burdened with cares and sorrows, and how 
few are not at some period of their lives. Mrs. 
Howard applied the subject to her own case, Alice to 
hers, while many others in the congregation could, 
with equal propriety, make a personal application of 
the sermon. 

Attending church both in the morning and after- 
noon with only a short intermission between the 
exercises, was very wearisome to children, especially 
as they could understand no part of the sermon. The 
more restless were anxiously waiting to hear the 
“ Amen ” long before the close. Since children form 
a part of every congregation, it is just that some of 
the sermons, or portions of them, should be especially 


MILLIE, 


223 


addressed to them in language adapted to their un- 
derstanding. It is not strange that young people, 
especially boys, should dislike to attend church, when 
they are compelled to sit still so long with nothing 
to interest them but their own vague thoughts. A 
great change has been effected in these conditions in 
modern times, so that the young are now taught by 
instructive books, lessons, and sermons on the sub- 
jects of morals and religion. 

Arthur could never keep still long at a time, there- 
fore he found it difficult to repress his fun, while 
Anna looked tired and impatient. Now and then a 
child would notice a word of which it had some idea 
of its meaning, but would associate with it a very 
strange and incongruous idea. Once when the hymn, 
‘‘ O to grace, how great a debtor,*' etc., was read, 
Arthur asked his mother whether that meant little 
Grace Goodell, who sat before him and often turned 
round and threw kisses to him, and whether the debtor 
in his father's account book meant the same as that 
in the Bible, and whether in the hymn, ‘‘ Here I raise 
my Ebenezer," meant Eben Parker when he fell from 
his horse. Anna had counted all the palm leaves on 
Mrs. Merill's shawl for the twentieth time, and won- 
dered why such clumsy figures were called leaves ; 
she was surprised that Mrs. Jones didn’t brush the 
dust from the folds of her black silk dress. Then 
she heard Mr. Goodell use the word selfish, and sup- 
posed he knew what a selfish girl she had been. 


224 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“ O dear, I wonder what Lillie is doing ; I wish it 
was night,'’ she wSaid to herself. 

Arthur began to feel very hungry, and wished he 
had a piece of his mother's pie. “ When I get home," 
thought he, ‘‘I will eat a whole one. I wonder 
whether Henry fed my cosset. Won't I pull Lucy's 
curls, for hiding my cap," and he looked round to see 
whether she read his thoughts, but her father had 
judiciously left her at home for the afternoon. He 
did not wish people disturbed in their devotions 
by her restlessness. At length the long-wished-for 
‘‘Amen " came, and Arthur, seizing his cap, wriggled 
his way down the aisle through the moving column 
of men and women, that he might be the first to leave 
the church. He felt like a caged bird set free. 
Lion was equally pleased to see his master, and jump- 
ing from his post skipped about to express his joy. 

The different teams drove up to the church steps 
to receive their loads. There were 'Squire Baldwin's 
sleek horses looking as well-fed as their master ; here 
was Mr. Cutler's team thoroughly brushed and 
washed ; yonder was Dan Woodard's one-eyed horse 
with wagon thills tied with a rope. Finally, the last 
team started for home, some going one way, some 
another, but all eager, both man and beast, to break 
a long fast. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


FORESHADOWINGS. 

“ What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul’s deep cell, 
Gush for the faces we no more may see.” 


June, sweet, balmy June, the month of roses, came 
with its sunny skies, its soft air, and its freshness of 
verdure. The two young friends, Alice and Fanny, 
improved the pleasant days in roaming through the 
woods and fields, or sitting in the arbor reading or 
sketching. With such a friend and surrounding 
scenes, Alice began to recover strength and bloom. 
She was apparently serene, but the trouble with her 
own heart was still going on. Sometimes the tender 
care of her friends, the beauty of nature, and the 
content of irrational creatures almost oppressed her. 

“Why cannot I be happy as well as these she 
said to herself. “ Why were we created with such 
capacities for loving the good and the beautiful and 
then have them repressed and blighted ? ” She could 
find no solution for the mystery, for the reason that 
none can be found in this life. These belong to the 
wonders of the Divine dispensations. 

As the two friends were sitting in the arbor one 
day, a gentle breeze rustled through the pine trees. 

(225) 


226 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Fanny, of what does the wind in the pine boughs 
remind you ? *’ 

“ It resembles very much the distant roar of the 
ocean,*' was the answer. When the wind blows 
hard, it reminds me of standing on the beach and 
hearing the waves as they approached and then re- 
ceded from the shore.’* 

I have never been to the sea-shore,” said Alice, 
“but I am always reminded of the presence of de- 
parted spirits. The idea is not original, but it agrees 
with my own views. It affords me a melancholy 
pleasure to sit in this grove and commune with the 
spirit of my mother. I feel that 

‘ Her form angelic hovers near, 

And comes in dreams alone to me.* *' 

“ Dear Alice, do not allow your thoughts to dwell 
on subjects that depress your spirits. Now I have 
some pleasant news to tell you.” 

“ What is it. Birdie ? You are always so cheerful 
that you can have nothing but good news.” 

“ What do you suppose I am working so diligently 
on this sketch every leisure moment for, sweet Inno- 
cence ? ” 

“ To see how it will look when finished ; that is 
what I should do.” 

“How artless! Do you not understand Clive’s 
tastes*.^ ” 

“ A true woman you are. Your identity is merged 


FORESHADO WINGS. 


227 

in that of another. But why should you be in such 
haste } ” 

Because I expect two knights-errant this way in a 
few days, and this must be finished. Clive does not 
forget that I have been his pupil, and he takes the 
liberty of giving his commands to do this and not do 
that. Among other possible things, he wishes me to 
practice drawing.'’ 

“ I don’t see how you find time to sing, draw, sew, 
make bread, cultivate flowers, etc.,” replied Alice. 

‘‘ I should not feel qualified to superintend my home, 
if I did not.” 

If Clive is going to bring company, I must go 
home to superintend uncle’s household. I shall be 
glad when my new aunt comes to take my place,” said 
Alice. 

“How can we spare you, Alice inquired Fanny. 

“ My place will be more than supplied by another. 
A more entertaining companion will attend you, 
anticipate your wishes, and make you as happy as 
possible.” 

Mrs. Howard had noticed with pleasure the effort 
Anna was constantly making to conquer her faults, 
though it caused the child many severe struggles in 
which she was sometimes overcome. Dr. Clive had 
invited her to spend a few weeks with Lucy at his 
home, when Layton and his friend came, thinking 
this arrangement would relieve Fanny of her young 
charge, and please the little girls. Mrs. Howard con- 


228 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


sented to the plan, as she had promised Anna at the 
May party some unexpected pleasure when she had 
corrected her faults. 

‘‘ My daughter,’' said she drawing her close to her 
side, ‘‘ I have seen your attempts to subdue your 
selfishness, and it has made me happy to know that 
you are succeeding so well. As a reward, I have 
given my consent to allow you to go home with Lucy, 
if you wish.” 

“ O yes, mother, I do want to go. But shall I 
not see you, Lillie, or little brother, until I return 

‘‘You probably will. We shall call and see you, 
and j)erhaps you may come to call on us. Will that 
please you ? ” 

“Dear, kind mamma, I am so happy; I will try to 
be a good girl. When shall we go ? ” 

“ To-morrow, my daughter,” replied her mother, 
kissing her and bidding her good-night. 

Anna kept awake till late that night, thinking of 
the expected pleasure of her visit. She could hardly 
wait until morning, but when the Doctor came for 
her, she grieved at the thought of leaving her home, 
and kissed all of them two or three times, then looked 
into her little bed-room which seemed dearer to her 
than ever before. During the ride, she could not 
keep back the tears, but with so many new things to 
be seen and heard at the Doctor’s, she soon regained 
her cheerfulness. 

The Doctor had many foreign curiosities, and while 


FORESHADO WINGS, 


229 


he explained their nature and history, she listened 
with great interest. There were specimens of corals, 
shells, minerals, insects, and birds about which she had 
many questions to ask. Besides, his library was fur- 
nished with entertaining books. She had read her 
own little volumes until she knew them by heart, and 
when she found so many new ones she was so eager 
to read that she could hardly find time to play. 

Lucy’s first act on arriving at home, was to rush 
into the kitchen and tell Hannah what a fine young 
lady she had become since she went to Mrs. Howard’s, 
and that she would n’t blow out Hannah’s candle any 
more, nor upset her work-box, because she would n’t 
let her cut up her pinafore for her doll’s dress. 

‘‘ Don’t you think I ’m a big girl, Hannah } I have 
learned a great deal. I can read ’most as good as 
Anna. I can sew, too, not make believe, but real 
nice.” 

Hannah, who had been in the Doctor’s family ever 
since Lucy’s birth, regarded her pet with pride, said, 

** Yes, darling, you do know ever so much, and you 
have grown as handsome as a doll.” 

“ I was May Queen, and Arthur was a little prince 
to wait upon me. He whispered in my ear saying I 
looked real beautiful. He sometimes plagues me, 
and I get mad with him. Papa says I must n’t ’cause 
he took me out of the water when I was drowned.” 

Although Lucy vexed Hannah by her wayward- 
ness, yet she was never angry with her long at a 


230 


SOWIJVG AND WAITING. 


time, and it was fortunate that she had such affection 
for the motherless child. Like so many other chil- 
dren, Lucy ruled when she could, though she never 
attempted it with her father, she having an instinctive 
perception it would be useless. The longer she was 
at home, the improvement in mind and character 
became -more apparent to her friends. The Doctor 
congratulated himself for placing her with the How- 
ards, and resolved to have her remain with them as 
long as practicable. 

Alice, as soon as she returned-to the village, from 
which she had been absent a few weeks, resumed her 
benevolent labors. Her first thought was to visit the 
afflicted couple, Deacon Hayford and his wife, whom 
she lound almost overcome with grief. 

Is there any one whose sorrow is like my sorrow,'’ 
exclaimed the agonized mother, wiping the tears from 
her eyes. 

We were proud of this child," said the stricken 
father. She was our Benjamin, and we denied her 
nothing from the time she was a babe in the cradle 
until her last days, when she would not heed our 
advice." 

‘‘O don't, father, reproach the dear child. It was 
our fault that we did not watch over her more faith- 
fully." 

I believe she has gone to her rest where the de- 
ceiver will trouble her no more," said Alice, ‘‘ and the 
babe she loved so tenderly is not separated from her." 


FORESHADO PV/JVGS. 


231 


‘‘We could have surrendered our darling with more 
resignation had she died in her right mind, and at her 
own home, with her friends to close her eyes,’' said 
her mother with tears. Alice could only weep with 
the bereaved parents, as she felt her own youth and 
inexperience disqualified her from offering any other 
sympathy. Tears are sometimes better comforters 
than words. 

Clive Layton was expected every day, and when 
the stage passed the Doctor’s house it was closely 
watched to see whether he was on board, while Alice 
was seated at the window nervously watching its 
arrival. It usually arrived at the village early in the 
afternoon, but to-day it was delayed, when she began 
to feel anxious lest some serious accident had occurred. 
At length the coach was heard rumbling over the 
stony road, and soon came in sight, heavily loaded with 
passengers and baggage. Clive was on the outside 
and had taken his seat with his friend, so as to obtain 
a view of the country and be recognized by his friends 
who might be watching for him. When they passed 
the Doctor’s, he removed his hat and waved his hand 
to Alice.- His friend saw her return the salutation. 

“ By Jove, Layton, who was that angel you saluted 

“Don’t you recognize the original, Paul.? You 
have seen her picture.” 

“That isn’t your cousin Alice.?” 

“ It is she or her shade.” 

“The greater fool you are, Clive.” 


232 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


We shall see,’* was the reply. 

The public house stood some rods from the Doctor’s 
and it was near the hotel that the passengers with 
their baggage were landed. The driver raised him- 
self in his seat, got his four horses in hand, cracked 
his whip, and drove up to the hotel in a graceful 
sweep, and pompous style. The piazza was filled 
with the villagers watching to see the stage come in 
and hear the news. Some were waiting for the mail, 
others were prompted by curiosity, but it was not 
long before the destination of each psssenger was 
known to the inquisitive. 

Clive found some of his old friends who gave him 
cordial welcome and rallied him on the object of his 
visit which they supposed was his pretty cousin Alice. 
Many inquisitive glances were directed toward Craw- 
ford, as if they would like to know who he was and 
what was his errand. 

“Driver, leave our baggage at Dr. Clive’s,” said 
Layton. The driver, a strong, large man, tossed the 
baggage on to the ground with as much ease as 
he would have swung a cat, mounted his seat and 
started almost as soon as the order was given. A 
stage driver in earlier times was a sovereign in his 
calling. He was quite conscious of his importance 
and power, while he performed no mean part in his 
little world, for he was the harbinger of news to 
thousands waiting patiently for his arrival. Did he 
not form a connecting link between separated friends.^ 


FORES HADO WI/VGS. 


233 

Was not his existence essential to business as well 
as friendship and even the interests of the State ? 

“ Come, Crawford, it is time you were introduced 
to my cousin. She is waiting for us.’’ 

“ Well, lead me to Eden ; I ’m impatient to go.” 

Alice’s heart beat violently since she saw the stage 
arrive, for she was expecting Clive and the stranger 
every moment, but the delay had given her time to 
control her emotions so that she appeared outwardly 
composed. Dressed in simple white, her golden 
locks bound with a blue ribbon, and a delicate blush 
on her cheek, Alice never looked more beautiful than 
when Clive entered. He greeted her in his usual 
cordial manner, and introduced his friend. 

Crawford was a connoisseur in beauty, whether in 
works of art or nature, and his perceptions were 
almost faultless. He was especially susceptible to 
female beauty, though it was seldom he thought that 
he saw faultless features or figures. He was often 
bantered by his friends for his susceptibility to female 
charm.s, but he was not understood. He had the eye 
of an artist, and as such he worshipped at the shrine 
of beauty. Possessing attractive qualities himself, 
especially in the estimation of the fair sex, his friends 
thought it singular that he remained impervious to 
those charms he had so often praised. He said he 
was in no danger, and could admire a woman without 
falling in love. 

When Paul was first introduced to Alice Bradford 


234 


SOH^/JVG AND WAITING. 


her loveliness entranced him. He lost for an instant 
his self-possession, and for the first time since Layton 
knew him, his easy, careless manners became awk- 
wardly embarrassed. Alice, naturally shrinking, was, 
on the contrary, composed and received him with a 
quiet dignity. Crawford soon, however, recovered 
himself and was perfectly at ease. The Doctor joined 
them and the conversation turned upon his guest’s 
family affairs. 

Paul Crawford’s father was a wealthy manufacturer, 
and had been the Doctor’s early friend. When the 
latter was struggling through college Mr. Crawford, 
then well established in business, assisted him by his 
influence, and privately by pecuniary help, so that the 
Doctor’s independence might not be offended. Now 
that the Doctor had the means, he watched for an 
opportunity to return past favors, and felt happy for 
the occasion to offer the hospitalities of his home to 
the son of his friend. It was Crawford’s intention 
to spend a short time with Dr. Clive, and then go to 
the lake and, perhaps, to the White Mountains. 
Layton, of course, could not be expected to leave 
Jefferson under present circumstances, therefore Craw- 
ford would pursue his journey alone. A week passed 
before Paul thought of his previous plan, and then 
merely alluded to the course he had proposed without 
manifesting any intention of resuming his travels. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


SANG SONGS. 

Sang songs, and told us what befalls 
In classic Dartmouth’s college halls, 

Or mirth-provoking versions told 
Of classic legends, rare and old.” 

Paul Crawford and Clive Layton had been firm 
friends ever after they began college life. They 
roomed together, and had been in each other’s con- 
fidence, though in many respects they were unlike in 
appearance and character. Clive was tall with dark 
hair, and generally thoughtful and reserved except to 
his intimate friends, while Paul was less in stature, 
with blue eyes, bright, ruddy complexion, and hair 
inclined to curl, and of frank, easy manners which 
made him popular with all classes. Every one would 
have selected Layton as the more intellectual of the 
two, but Crawford would have been chosen first as a 
familiar friend. Layton’s character was not easily 
read, but when understood, it seemed like tried gold. 
There was always something to be studied, something 
to be learned of his character, and one was never^ 
certain he had fathomed his nature, whereas Crawford 
was so ingenuous that a short acquaintance was suffi- 
cient to comprehend him, but he had one great defect, 
(235) 


236 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


that of not concentrating his versatile powers upon a 
single purpose, partly due to nature and partly to cir- 
cumstances. Being an heir to wealth, the necessity of 
fitting himself for some useful career did not arouse 
his ambition, a quality in which he was deficient. In a 
few weeks he would graduate, yet he had not decided 
wl^ether or not he would give his attention to art, for 
which he showed a decided inclination, but as for any 
other object of pursuit, or whether he would travel 
abroad for some time to come, he could not decide. 
His friends had repeatedly urged him to decide upon 
some definite pursuit, for his own benefit, to which 
he replied in a facetious manner : — 

** I have not the qualities of a hero ; I shall always 
be a careless, good-for-nothing fellow. I can never 
become a Burke or a Webster, a Galen or a Sydenham, 
a Bossuet or a Chalmers, a Dante or a Buonarotti, a 
Mozart or a Beethoven, and nothing less could satisfy 
my ambition.'' 

“You have missed the mark this time," said Clive, 
laughing ; suppose you enter my profession } " 

“ Ye gods, defend me ! Should my soaring ambition 
tempt me so high, my fate would be more deplorable 
than that of Icarus." 

“Your low opinion of the profession would unfit 
you for it," said Clive. 

“ I have no desire to have my happiness destroyed, 
and my reputation damaged, by any conceited parent 
who believed his son to be an Admirable Crichton, 


SAJVG SONGS. 


237 

while I might consider him a stupid blockhead,” 
replied Paul. 

Anna and Lucy had gone to walk with their dolls 
when Clive and his friend arrived, and when they 
returned an hour after they were delighted to find 
the expected guests had come. Lucy in her enthu- 
siasm rushed into Cousin Clive's ” arms and gave 
him a cordial embrace, regardless of the presence of 
a stranger. 

“ I 'm so glad to see you. I Ve lots to tell you about 
Mamma Howard, Lillie, Aunt Fanny, and Arthur. O 
Clive, I was. drowned and came to life again.” 

“ I should think you had ‘ come to life.' You seem 
pretty lively,” said Clive, detaching her arms from 
his embrace, and gently placing her from him. I 
see you have grown, Lucy. I presume you have 
learned a great deal. Here is Anna,” who had stood 
quietly looking on. “ Come here, Anna,” extending 
his hand. She timidly stepped forward and took it. 
“Aren't you going to give me a kiss ” stooping 
down to receive it. The child blushed, hesitated, but 
kissed him, looking shyly at Crawford. 

“ Who is this young fawn } ” said he. Anna and 
Lucy were both introduced to him, and it was not 
long before all three were on friendly and familiar 
terms. 

After tea, Clive took the Doctor's team and drove 
to the Howards'. It was a beautiful summer day, and 
the town looked so different from what it did when it 


238 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


was buried beneath a snow-bank that he could hardly 
believe it was the same. Vegetation was so fresh and 
green ; the trees, whose bare limbs were seen all 
through the winter, were now covered with fresh 
leaves ; the fields were fragrant with clover blossoms, 
and little patches of flowers were looking gay and 
attractive. His own feelings were in harmony with 
nature. An absence of a few months had strength- 
ened his attachment to nature’s wonderful scenes, 
and especially the object of his affection. 

At length the well-remembered Cottage came in 
sight, nestling in shrubbery and standing on the bor- 
ders of the forest. It was unpretending, but to him 
more beautiful than marble palaces, since it sheltered 
one dearer to him than all the world besides. Mrs. 
Howard saw him approaching and went to the door 
to receive him, and, after greeting her, his first inquiry 
was : — 

“ Where is Fanny } ” 

** In the arbor at the Pine Grove. Shall I call 
her ? ” 

“ No, I prefer to seek her there. Which is the 
way ? ” 

“ Follow this path and it will lead you directly to it.” 

Meeting the object of his search he said: — 

I was revolving in my mind what a devoted little 
wife I should have, when I saw you at work on your 
sketch so diligently, solely to please me.” 

‘‘ Oh, Clive, you give me too much credit for disin- 


SAATG SONGS. 


239 


terestedness, for have you not become necessary to 
my ha^^ness ? Besides, I work for the love of it, 
though I did not at first/" 

“ What changed your feelings ? "" said Clive, draw- 
ing nearer, and winding a curl of her hair around his 
finger. 

‘‘What a querist you are, and why do you ask, 
when you know the truth perfectly 1 "" 

The sun was low in the west when they turned to 
see it disappear below the horizon, and its departing 
rays fell on Fanny’s brow and hair as on the evening 
of her betrothal. 

“ Have-you forgotten that memorable evening,” said 
Clive in a low, gentle voice, “ and the vow we made } ” 

“ I could never forget it,” was the reply. 

With hands clasped, they bowed their heads and 
offered a silent prayer for the Divine blessing on 
their future lives. A love thus sanctified could not 
fail to bring domestic happiness. The friends sat 
for an hour, conversing about their future duties, 
until it occurred to them they ought to return to the 
Cottage. 

“ I have a surprise for you, Clive,” said Mrs. How- 
ard, “ and I hope it may be agreeable. My oldest 
brother is a lawyer, settled in a town a few miles from 
Hanover, who is a graduate of Dartmouth, and gen- 
erally attends its commencements. You are aware 
there is an old and flourishing academy in the town, 
but you may not know that it is in need of a princi- 


240 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


pal. My brother, whose name is Thomas, is one of 
the trustees, and the duty mainly belongs to him of 
selecting a teacher for the position. A few days ago 
I received a letter from him, inviting you and Fanny 
to spend some time in Clermont and attend com- 
mencement with him, and by this means he could 
have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with 
you, and should you be mutually pleased it may result 
in your appointment as principal.” 

I thank you very much for your kind interest in 
my welfare,” said Clive. ‘‘ I hope I may deserve your 
kindness. ^Squire Sherwood is known at the college, 
as he is one of its trustees. I should feel highly hon- 
ored to make his acquaintance, but I have some mis- 
givings about answering his expectations.” 

** I think he is favorably impressed, from what he 
has heard of you, and you have a powerful advocate 
in Fanny, of whom my brother was always fond.” 

Clive looked at her with an affectionate and admir- 
ing smile which brought a blush to her cheeks, while 
he thought she was becoming more lovely, both in 
person and character, every day. As the evening was 
advancing, Clive felt compelled to return to the Doc- 
tor's, telling Fanny he would bring his friend Craw- 
ford to call upon her to-morrow. 

‘‘I am afraid I shall not please him, he is so fastid- 
ious, according to your opinion.” 

‘‘I think you have misunderstood me in what I 
said of him,” said Clive. 


SAJVG SONGS. 


241 


Will you let me know if I please him ? ” 

“Yes.’’ 

Clive reluctantly turned his horse towards the 
village, but he had received a fresh impulse for the 
battle of life, and he felt a stronger determination to 
win the struggle. The young heart he had won 
would be his Mentor, hence all his plans and aims had 
reference to her, while he felt honored by the love of 
such a woman. Thus he reasoned ; but perhaps his 
affections had controlled entirely his judgment, though 
ke was satisfied. 

What were Fanny’s thoughts in the meantime ? 

Fair visions of future happiness, unclouded by 
sorrow or disappointment were ever present to her 
imagination. She never understood the sterner reali- 
ties of life, and her chief anxiety was to promote 
the happiness of her affianced. She would prepare 
herself for all domestic cares and for his companion- 
ship, and would cultivate her mind and manners to 
please him. As he had no fortune to aid him, she 
would practise economy to relieve him from pecuniary 
embarrassment, therefore she was constantly asking 
her sister how to perform household duties. Mrs. 
Howard smiled at Fanny’s zeal and perseverance, but 
advised and encouraged her. She did not check the 
ardor of her hopeful nature by suggesting the idea 
of future sorrows lurking in ambush, believing she 
would have strength given her to meet them when 
they came. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A TALE OFTEN TOLD. 

** Her beauty seemed not of a mortal birth.” 

Paul Crawford was at first attracted by the 
beauty of Alice, as an admirer of art might have 
been attracted by a beautiful picture, but the more 
he studied her features, the more fascinated he became. 

Clive had noticed in his cousin varying moods 
quite unusual. Sometimes she seemed pensive, at 
other times she appeared to be in an unusually happy 
state of mind. At times he observed a moisture in 
her eyes and a slight trembling in her hand, attrib- 
uted to the delicate state of her health, and would 
say to her, Alice, you are not well; you must rest.’' 

“Do not feel anxious about me, Clive, I shall soon 
recover my former vigor. Employment is a benefit ; 
it affords me pleasure. I flatter myself that I am 
getting over my idle habits, and am trying to make 
myself useful in an humble way.” 

“You always were useful, my sister, as no one 
knows better than the playmate of your childhood.” 

“The endearing name of sister; how it wounds, 
when it was intended to soothe ; I would rather he 
should call me Alice, or cousin, or even Miss Brad- 
ford. Sister implies a relation which precludes the 
.(242) 


A TALE OFTEN TOLD. 


243 


possibility he could ever cherish a tenderer emotion. 
It would be some consolation to know he ever re- 
garded me with affection, though he may have given 
it to another. May he never know, during my life, 
how tenderly I regarded him from early childhood.” 

Layton took his friend as he promised, to call upon 
the Howards. No words had been exchanged be- 
tween them in regard to Alice, but Clive was pretty 
sure Paul was interested in her though he was not 
certain she felt any special regard for him only as the 
personal friend of himself. The conversation during 
the ride naturally centred upon her, but when she 
was mentioned, Paul’s manner changed. He did not 
discuss her beauty as an abstract idea as he had been 
accustomed to do, but referred to it in a reverential 
manner, as if it were something too sacred to be made 
the subject of criticism. Crawford was never rude 
in his manners, — that was in opposition to his nature 
and education, but he never before felt any other 
emotion when meeting a beautiful woman than that 
of an artist. He did not indulge in raillery so natural 
to him, when he laughingly joked Layton for his 
devotion to Fanny. 

On the introduction of Paul, Layton thought Fanny 
was all he could wish. She wore no ornaments except 
a rosejpud in her hair and one on her bosom. Her 
eyes were full of tenderness ; her countenance, though 
not faultless, was constantly changing its expression, 
indicating her different emotions. Sometimes her 


244 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


eyes were cast down, shaded by their long lashes, 
then, sparkling with vivacity, they were raised to* the 
speaker's face. At first, she seemed timid, but Craw- 
ford’s frank manners soon dissipated all lingering fear 
she cherished of his criticism, when she resumed 
her artless ways. 

‘‘Fanny,” said Clive, “will you show your portfolio 
of drawings to Crawford.^” 

“ O, Clive, I am sorry you mentioned them before 
Mr. Crawford who you said was a connoisseur in art, 
and I have nothing but the crudest sketches, such as 
school-girls make.” 

“ Miss Sherwood, my friend Clive gives me too 
much honor. I know but little of art, but have my 
own private opinions. I should be exceedingly happy 
to examine your sketches.” 

Fanny hesitated, but she saw that Clive wished it, 
therefore she produced several specimens of crayon 
drawings and water colors, some having been executed 
while at school, and others after she became ac- 
quainted with Clive. Crawford selected half a dozen 
specimens which he considered very good, and ex- 
pressed the hope that Miss Sherwood would prosecute 
her studies in this department. When he found the 
one she had just completed, he pronounced it de- 
cidedly good. It was a landscape view from the arbor, 
which afforded a fine prospect for an artist. 

“ Let us repair to the grove,” said Clive, “and see 
the original.” 


A TALE OFTEN TOLD, 


245 


Accordingly they all went to the spot, when Paul 
said, ‘‘This is a charming view; I did not expect to 
find such scenery here.’’ 

He then made some valuable suggestions to Fanny, 
which she might use to advantage in another sketch, 
and commended her taste and skill where she ex- 
celled. ^ All this was done so naturally and kindly, 
that she was neither mortified nor discouraged. 

Until the moment of leaving, Clive forgot Alice’s 
invitation for Fanny to spend the next day at the 
Doctor’s and would probably never have recalled it 
had he not been sent to bring her. 

After leaving Glen Cottage, Crawford said, “ What 
a fortunate man you are, Layton.” 

“ I was sure you would like her,” said Clive. 

“ Don’t you feel jealous of me,” said Paul, “ such 
a handsome fellow as I am ? ” 

“ Not in the least. My little Fanny is proof against 
all fascinations, except from one source.” 

“ How conceited you are,” replied Paul. “That’s 
the way we men talk, as though we were sure of 
taking captive every woman we see, though, to be 
honest, we ought to confess that we feel a distrust 
lest — well, I may as well confess it — we meet with 
a repulse, greatly to our mortification.” 

“ I passed through that ordeal,” said Layton, “ some 
months ago when I wrote you that my fate depended 
upon ‘ yes ’ or ‘ no.’ ” 

“ How did you manage to win the admiration of 


246 SOWING AND WAITING. 

such ladies as Alice and Fanny? The former, your 
cousin, as you call her,' is devoted to you, as every i 

one can see, while the latter proclaims by her 
manners that she has surrendered unconditionally/’ 

‘‘ You don’t imagine that Alice regards me other 
than as a friend and brother, do you ? ” said Clive. 

Humph ! well, perhaps not, for the depths of 
a woman’s heart I would not attempt to fathom,” 
answered Paul. 

** I tell you that you are mistaken in your sus- 
picions of Alice ” 

Paul made no other reply than “Ah,” and began to 
whistle a familiar air, but his thoughts were very busy 
about the subject of their conversation. 

Layton spent most of his time at Glen Cottage, 
while devolved upon Alice the duty of entertaining 
Paul as the guest of her uncle. The time he decided 
upon to resume his journey to the lake had passed, 
yet he felt no inclination to go, while the Doctor 
invited him to remain through his vacation and make 
his contemplated journey some other time. Though 
at first he declined to accept the proposal, neverthe- 
less he lingered and gave much of his time to Alice, 
and, before he was aware, his admiration ended in a 
devoted attachment. Her beauty at first attracted 
him, but her gentleness and innocence won his heart. 

Alice did not allow the presence of guests to inter- 
fere with her duties to her “ patients,” as the Doctor 
called them, her “ parishioners,” as Mr. Goodell said, 


A TALE OFTEN TOLD. 


247 


and her “ beneficiaries,” as Paul Crawford styled 
them, but her “angels of mercy,” as she called those 
to whose comfort she administered, for she insisted 
they were conferring favors upon her. After Paul 
had been at the Doctor’s some time he proposed to 
accompany Alice in her daily visits, for during her 
absence, he found life intolerable, as he expressed it ; 
and rather than suffer from emiuiy he would prefer 
the penalty of seeing the old, ugly, maimed, sick, and 
dying, and listen to a long catalogue of grievances. 

“Alice,” said he, with characteristic nonchalance, 
“ can I be of any use to you in your labors } I can 
gather your flowers and carry your basket, and perhaps 
you can transform me into a ‘ messenger of mercy.’ ” 
These were prophetic words, carelessly spoken. 

“I can find more useful employment for your idle 
fingers than tangling my spools, and disarranging 
my work basket, generally,” said Alice, laughingly. 

“ Good ; now, let me go to work,” seizing a pair of 
scissors to cut some flowers with. 

“Your zeal is greater than your knowledge, which 
is generally true of neophytes,” said Alice, taking 
away the scissors and going to the closet for the 
garden shears. “I think these will answer better.” 

Armed with such an instrument, Paul proceeded to 
cut and arrange several bouquets with his usual taste. 
Alice took the basket used for the purpose, and 
nearly filled it with substantial articles for the poor, 
and delicacies for the sick, on the top of which she 


248 


SOIV/NG AND IVA/TING. 


placed the flowers. Crawford took the basket, and 
they began their calls. 

‘‘ Perhaps, Lady Confessor, you prefer to leave your 
novice outside, while you hear the confession of your 
penitents within,’’ said Paul. 

Oh, no ; you must not escape the disagreeable part 
of your duty, as you view it.” 

The first call was made upon Aunt Hetty, an aged 
woman whose palsied hands and dim sight indicated 
great age. There was no trace of beauty in her 
wrinkled countenance. 

“How are you to-day, Aunty inquired Alice. 

“Weak in body, my dear, but strong in faith.” 

“ How did you rest last night. 

“ Well, I slept nearly two hours. The pain in my 
poor old limbs kept me awake.” 

“Did you feel lonesome. Aunty.?” 

“ Oh, no, dear ; the blessed Saviour was with me. 
I was so happy thinking of Him.” 

“ You like flowers. Aunt Hetty 

“ Oh, yes ; I can smell them, but my poor old eyes 
are so dim I can’t see how pretty they look, but when 
I get home to glory, I shall have my sight again.” 

“ I have brought a friend to see you.” 

Crawford had stood behind Alice, and Aunt Hetty 
was not conscious of his presence. 

“ Who is it, darling .? ” 

Alice then introduced him as the friend and guest 
of Dr. Clive, when he came and took her hand. 


A TALE OFTEN TOLD. 


249 


You are a young man, I know by your hand. It 
was kind to come and see an old woman like me.’' 

He told her the credit belonged to Alice, but he 
was happy to see one who had lived so long. 

“God bless you, you mean to do good in the 
world.” 

Paul said he hoped he might, though he did not do 
as much as he ought. 

Alice then left some little delicacies for the invalid, 
and went to other patients. One who had suffered 
much was querulous, and it required some time for 
Alice to soothe her perturbed spirits, and impart con- 
solation. To some she read, while with others she 
listened to their complaints. Her last call was made 
at Deacon Hayford’s. The old couple did not need 
pecuniary aid, but her presence with her unostenta- 
tious sympathy was comforting to them. She tried 
to supply the place of a daughter as nearly as she 
could. The history of their trials enlisted the sym- 
pathy of Paul. 

Among her “ beneficiaries ” were those who were 
poor and in need of help, and Crawford, who was 
very generous, placed in her hand sums of money, 
with strict injunctions to secrecy, to be expended 
upon these people. Paul Crawford did not claim to 
be religious, but he was not a scoffer. He never 
sneered when the subject of religion was mentioned, 
neither was he wholly indifferent to its personal 
claims. The early, faithful instructions of a pious 


250 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


mother had never been forgotten, but they still left 
their impression on his mind. 

When Paul saw the active piety of Alice, the 
patience and faith of Aunt Hetty, the meek submis- 
sion of Deacon Hayford, he felt they had a divine 
support he did not possess. It led him to a thorough 
examination of himself, his motives, and responsibili- 
ties, and the longer he meditated, the more dissatis- 
fied he felt with himself, and the more earnest his 
desire to renounce his useless career and pursue 
some honorable course of labor. Alice's pure and 
exalted character inspired him with a reverence 
hardly akin to an earthly passion. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


POLITICAL ECONOMY. 

“ In God’s own might 
He girds us for the coming fight.” 


When Clive Layton returned to Jefferson he was 
received with a cordial welcome by his old acquain- 
tances and pupils, and had many invitations to visit 
them at their homes. Many of these he accepted, 
and called upon nearly every family, accompanied 
by his friend Paul Crawford, to show him, as he said, 
how a school-master was regarded. These were times 
when his profession was respected and his labors 
appreciated. They called at 'Squire Baldwin’s near 
evening, therefore were urged to remain to tea. 

Crawford’s agreeable manners won the confidence 
of the young people, while at the same time he pleased 
all the others, so that the Misses Baldwin were quite 
charmed with him, and Paul enjoyed the jokes and 
laughter of th^ ’Squire as well. 

“ We must take another day for the Waltons,” 
said Clive, 'Tor I wish you to know what sensible 
people they are.” They did not omit the Pages in 
their new home on Walnut Hill. Within a few days, 
an invitation was sent by the Waltons for the Doctor 
(251) 


2 52 SOWING AND WAITING. 

and his family, Mr. Goodell the minister, and his 
wife, the Howards, and some of the other neighbors, 
to a small party at their house, when Aunt Jenny, as 
usual, entertained the guests in her genial way ; but 
none of the company so highly amused Crawford, who 
had a keen sense of humor, as ‘‘ Marvellous ” Chapin 
and his wife Priidy. Mr. Chapin had heard so much 
of the wonders of the railroad that he was curious to 
see it in ‘Hull operation,'’ using his own words. 
Whether he supposed the railroad was a movable 
machine going through the country with great speed, 
or that it was an immense express wagon driven by 
steam, was not evident, for he spoke of it as travelling 
at a certain speed, and carrying passengers and 
freight. He and his wife made a long journey, as 
railroads were not known at Jefferson, for the pur- 
pose of seeing the “ wonderful thing,” as he said, and 
for a long time he did not recover from his astonish- 
ment, and would relate his adventures to every 
listener he could gain. 

“ Have you ever travelled with the railroad, Mr. 
Crawford ? Marvellous, entirely ! ” 

“ I have had a little’ experience. Dq you like that 
mode of travelling, Mr. Chapin } ” 

“ Why, no ; I Ve nevor rid in it. Prudy and I went 
a great distance to see it. Marvellous ! before we come 
in sight we heard an awful snorting and puffing and 
racketing, as if fifty wild colts had broke loose. Says 
I to Prudy, ‘ What ’s that ? the railroad has started, 


POLITICAL ECONOMY, 


253 


sure.’ And pooty soon we saw the ingin’, as they 
call it. Marvellous, ’tirely ! it did look worse than an 
Injin. Do you think, the old mare pricked up her 
ears, whisked round and, in spite of me, turned us 
out. We rolled down a sand bank, and mother’s best 
bunnet was spoiled ; but we was fort’nate that it 
did n’t break our necks. The old mare, confound 
her, didn’t stop till she left us miles behind.” 

Crawford laughed heartily, and then related some 
of his experiences by that mode of travel, at which 
Mr. Chapin had an opportunity of using his favorite 
expletives, while Prudy opened her eyes very wide 
with a “Now du tell,” and “Did you ever.?” as often 
as her deliberate manner allowed. 

“ Do you not hope to see railroads crossing your 
State in all directions, Mr. Chapin .? ” inquired Layton. 

“ Why, no ; guess not. Could n’t keep a critter on 
my farm.” 

“ It would be impossible, our State is so mountain- 
ous,” said Mr. Cutler. 

“ Rev. Samuel Parker, in his journey overland, gave 
it as his opinion that there were, no insuperable obsta- 
cles to a railway across the Rocky Mountains,” ob- 
served Mr. Layton. 

“And a little later, Lewis Gaylord Clark said the 
person is now living who will make a railway trip 
across the continent,” observed Mr. Goodell. 

“Marvellous, ’tirely!” responded Mr. Chapin. 

Mrs. Walton had two webs of linen cloth of her 


254 


SOIV/ATG AATD WAITING. 


own manufacture spread on the grass to bleach ; one 
for sheets, the other, of what was called bird's-eye, 
for table-linen and towels. They had become as 
white as snow, and attracted the attention of the 
ladies. Mrs Goodell, to whom the process of mak- 
ing and bleaching cloth was a novelty, was much 
interested in listening to Aunt Jenny's description of 
the method. At length the attention of the gentle- 
men was awakened. 

“Mr. Walton," said Mr. Goodell, “I see that you 
continue the ancestral practice of home manufacture." 

“I do, and wish there were more to follow my 
example." 

“ Do you prefer home manufactures to factory 
goods } " inquired Crawford. 

“ Decidedly, for several reasons." 

“ Will you give us some of your reasons, Mr. Wal- 
ton } " asked Layton. 

“ In the first place, cloth made of flax is more 
durable and is more handsome. What is more beau- 
tiful as cloth than smooth linen, white as snow } " 

“ Cotton goods can be made more quickly and 
cheaper than linen," replied Lawton. 

“That may be, but give me the homespun fabrics." 

“ Then you do not consider Whitney, Hargreaves, 
Arkwright, and Crompton entitled to much credit for 
their inventions," said Crawford. 

“ No, not if they require the blood, sweat, and 
tears of the slave," replied Mr. Walton, who was in- 


POL/ TIC A L ECONOMY, 


255 


trenching on dangerous ground ; but he was a firm 
abolitionist, which, at that time, required great moral 
courage. 

Crawford blushed, for his father was a wealthy 
manufacturer, who believed slavery was a forbidden 
topic of discussion. 

‘‘You certainly do not suppose operatives in cotton 
mills are oppressed, do you } inquired Paul. 

“ No, that was not my meaning. I referred to the 
cotton producer, that is, the slave.” 

“You will admit that the cultivation of cotton has 
been of great advantage to the country, financially } ” 
observed Mr. Goodell. 

“ I admit that in a qualified sense ; but slavery 
would not have extended and gained control of the 
government, as it has done, had it not been for the 
manufacture of cotton goods. Believing, as I do, that 
slavery is a personal and national sin,* and that the 
Supreme Ruler is just, I think there is for us, as a 
nation, a fearful punishment unless we put away the 
evil.” 

“ I believe also that slavery is a great wrong, but I 
do not see how we can interfere with it without 
endangering the Union,” replied Mr. Goodell. “I 
wish with all my heart that we were rid of it, but I 
do not see how it can be done. Perhaps God, in His 
Providence, may bring it about in some mysterious 
way.” 

“ It will be by fire and sword, unless we do it volun- 


256 SOW/ATG AND WAITING. 

tarily,” replied Mr. Walton, and turning to Dr. Clive 
said, ‘‘What’s your opinion, Doctor.^” 

“Well,” said the Doctor, deliberately placing his 
right foot over his left knee, and then running his 
fingers through his hair, as he was accustomed to do 
whenever he had a difficult case to decide, “ I am a 
novice, perhaps ; I ought not to express my opinion.” 

“ O, yes, Doctor, do,” came from several voices. 

“ When I was a young man I went South to increase 
my limited means by teaching, as so many Yankee 
students do. I became interested in my employer’s 
daughter, and, as you know, took her as a bride to 
New England. I thought then, like other silly young 
men,” here he cast a furtive glance at Layton and 
Crawford, “ that I must like everything my sweetheart 
approved, therefore I pretended to be in favor of the 
patriarchal institution. I saw it in Maryland in its 
mildest form, and love for my wife led me for a time 
to forget my New England birth and education. But 
since then I have seen more of its real nature when 
travelling in the South, and am convinced of its dan- 
gerous tendencies. The system is fearful.” 

Mrs. Howard, Alice, and Fanny expressed by their 
looks their approbation of the Doctor’s views, while 
Mrs. Goodell believed the negroes were fitted only for 
a state of servitude, that their condition was far 
better than when in their native country, and she did 
not see why slavery was a sin or a danger. 

Crawford evidently coincided with her views, but 


POLITICAL ECONOMY. 


257 


seeing a look of pain on the face of Alice, he did not 
express his opinion. Layton, who was always guarded 
in expressing his views, adopted Mr. Walton’s opin- 
ions, but took no part in the discussion. 

Mrs. Howard, with the tact natural to her, invited 
the ladies to go into the garden, and see Mrs. Walton’s 
flowers, with the view of interrupting the conversation, 
which might be continued, causing some unpleasant 
feelings. 

The gentlemen naturally glided into politics, but 
the subject was not sufficiently fascinating to the 
younger guests to prevent them from joining the 
ladies in the garden. 

The rose bushes were in full bloom. Crawford cut 
a spray of the buds, trimmed off the thorns, and placed 
it in Alice’s hair. ‘‘ I crown you the Peerless. A 
fitting diadem for the Queen of Beauty,” said he in a 
low voice. 

“You admire in me what I claim no credit for,” 
said Alice; “had I a darker complexion, I might have 
been adorned with a diadem made of cotton.” 

Paul felt keenly the rebuke, though he had not 
expressed his opinions on the subject of the recent 
conversation, still he understood. that Alice read his 
thoughts. 

“ Pardon me, Alice, if I differ from you in opinion. 
My education has been different from yours ; but if I 
am wrong I trust your more enlightened conscience 
will teach me the truth.” 


258 


SOIV/NG AND WAITING. 


** I should shrink from the idea of teaching any- 
thing. It is my feelings that are opposed to slavery/’ 
replied Alice. 

Crawford walked thoughtfully by her side, pulling 
the petals from a rose and scattering them along the 
path. Fanny had fastened a rose in Clive’s button- 
hole, and was looking into his face with tenderness 
while he was expressing his opinion upon the subject, 
and assented to all his views, as she was accustomed 
to do. This habit made him more cautious in declar- 
ing his opinions, for he felt as a tender parent feels 
when the child accepts every word as if it were a pure 
drop from the fountain of truth, and he hesitated as 
he thought her confidence in him might be weakened 
when she understood his faults. He had won her 
heart, and how could he preserve her confiding love } 
One thing he would never do, that is, intentionally 
deceive her. Honesty, he argued, between lovers, 
even in thought, is the foundation of confidence. 
Conscious of his own faults, he would not expect per- 
fection in her. 

Tea-time was at length announced, and the com- 
pany gathered around Mrs. Walton’s table, where 
was placed every delicacy her skill could prepare, and 
she was a model cook for those times, when tastes 
and domestic customs were more simple than at the 
present day. The company did full justice to her 
preparations, and parted in good fellowship. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


GOSSIP. 

“What tidings, Gossip, peace or weird? 

What tidings heard you there, I pray?*^ 

Several excursions to places of interest in the 
town and down the river were planned and made by 
the young friends, in which they were joined by some 
of the village youth, including Ambrose Merill, the 
merchant’s son and one of Fanny’s admirers, and 
Henry Owen, who was partial to Alice Bradford. 
These gay young men considered themselves a match 
for the Dartmouth students, and the rivalry between 
these parties to win the admiration of the young ladies 
enlivened these excursions. Fanny’s musical talent 
made her society much sought on such occasions. 

• The arrival of Layton sent Polly McClure on a 
new conjecture. She saw that Fanny, and not Alice, 
was his choice, since he was so frequent a visitor to 
the Cottage ; therefore a new scheme was planned, 
that was to have Paul Crawford the suitor of Alice, 
while the village gossips found another topic to dis- 
cuss and settle, which was the new wife of Dr. Clive, 
who was expected soon at Jefferson. The Doctor had 
been so reticent about the matter, and so skilful in 
concealing his matrimonial plans, that no one sus- 
(259) 


26 o 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


pected his intentions until nearly on the eve of their 
accomplishment. Various were the opinions in re- 
gard to the Doctor's intended wife, some favorable, 
others adverse. Some of the gossips wondered he 
did not choose a younger bride — none had seen her ; 
others thought he should have selected an older com- 
panion. Some wondered whether she was rich, others 
whether she was proud, while nearly all claimed that 
she would be an unkind step mother, and that poor 
little Lucy would be a martyr to her tyranny. 

Many of these views reached the Doctor, but he 
understood the world and human nature too well to 
notice them, except to smile at their absurdity. There 
were those who never quite forgave the Doctor for 
bringing to the village a new Mrs. Clive in such a 
clandestine manner, and decided not to like her, nor 
wish to form her acquaintance. These persons were 
never on familiar terms with the Doctor's family, 
therefore he would not suffer much by the loss of* 
their friendship. 

Little Johnny McClure, Layton's champion, had 
been in the habit of going to Glen Cottage quite 
often, sometimes to do an errand for his mother, 
whose habit of borrowing became a passion, and 
sometimes he went on his own account, for he 
‘‘ liked the folks down there, as they treated him like 
a gentleman.’ 

Mrs. floward had noticed that he was bright and 
well-behaved for a boy with his surroundings, and 


GOSSIP. 


261 


with her usual tact and benevolence she tried to 
develop his good qualities, and soon discovered he was 
particularly susceptible to kindness, perhaps because 
of its absence in his own home. Johnny was often 
present when Mrs. Howard was instructing her 
pupils, and their lessons were treasured in his mem- 
ory. His curiosity was stimulated and he eagerly 
read all the little books belonging to the children, and 
then asked for more. He thought Miss Fanny the 
'' most pleasant Jady in the world,’' for she often sang 
to him and told him stories. The boy seemed to 
think the Cottage a paradise. 

One day, just before Layton arrived, he came there 
on an errand, but lingered, as if something was in 
his mind which he wished to make known. 

“What is it, Johnny.?” inquired Fanny. 

“ Do you know the master. Miss Fanny .? ” 

“ Is it Mr. Layton you mean ? ” 

Yes, marm. Is n’t he first rate ? ” 

“ Do you think so ? ” 

“Jimmy, I guess I does.” 

Fanny could not refrain from laughing at the boy’s 
way of expressing himself. She said : — 

“Johnny, I will tell you something you would like 
to hear, if you will not say 'Jimmy’ any more. Mr. 
Layton is coming to make us a visit soon.” 

“ I ’ll never say Jim — again,” but remembering 
he had a brother by that name, he said, “ I ’ll never 
swear it again.” 


262 


SOJV/JVG AND WAITING. 


“ You must come and see Mr. Layton when he 
arrives.” 

“ Yes, marm, I will.” 

Johnny went home to tell the news, and the next ‘ 
day it was circulated throughout the village, though 
the general news dealer jumbled together conflicting 
statements and expressed opinions entirely opposed 
to the truth. 

Cliv^e had not been long in town before his little 
friend called to see him. Johnny stood in such awe 
of his teacher that he said but little* in reply to his 
inquiries, and only in Clive’s absence did he become 
eloquent in his praise. 

“ Your pupil,” said Fanny archly, ‘‘ stands in such 
fear of his teacher, that you ought to conclude he 
dislikes you, as you did of an older pupil once, and 
was much troubled about it.” 

‘‘I am conceited enough to believe Johnny has a 
strong attachment for me under that reserve, from the 
fact that such things have happened before.” 

‘‘ O, Mr. Pedagogue, I don’t fear you now,” said 
Fanny, taking a seat on a stool near, and placing a 
soft little hand in his, ‘‘ though you know so much, 
and I am so ignorant.” 

I prefer to see you at my side, my equal in privi- 
leges, as you are my superior in attractions and 
goodness. My gentle Birdie, when you speak of my 
superior wisdom you make me feel very humble.” 

‘'Now, if you are not very wise, I cannot marry 


GOSSIP, 263 

you, for I need some one to tell me everything, to 
save me the trouble of learning/' 

“ That is, you wish me to be a Solomon." 

“ Precisely." 

‘‘ In everything } " 

Well, not in — " 

“ I will supply the ellipsis. Not in a divided 
heart," said Clive. 

“ No, I should not like to have you love any other 
woman." 

‘‘ You believe that love is better than wisdom." 

** Love with wisdom is best," said Fanny. 

“ True, I could respect you even were you ignorant, 
but I could not love you." 

“Then you did not love me because you fancied 
me beautiful," said Fanny, pretending to be offended. 

“No, Fanny, though you are beautiful to me, it 
was your moral and intellectual qualities, united with 
your graceful manners, that won my heart. I do not 
undervalue physical beauty ; it is only that I esteem 
it less highly than moral and intellectual qualities. 
When the former fades the latter grow brighter until 
they culminate in a heavenly radiance. There is 
your sister Paulina, who is by no means deficient in 
comeliness, but her chief attractions are her sweet, 
noble character, and her intellectual powers. But for 
her I never should have known and loved my little 
Fanny," said Clive, taking her hand. 

“ Few persons have so good, kind, and wise a sister 


264 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


as I have, and should I prove to be a useful woman I 
shall owe it to her and to you.” 

Mrs. Howard came into the room just as the last 
words were spoken. 

‘‘We were saying how much we were indebted to 
you for our happiness,” said Clive. 

“ I am truly thankful for being the means of happi- 
ness to any one,” Mrs. Howard replied, “ but yours 
has a higher source, even your Heavenly Father, the 
Author of all noble and pure happiness.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


A DECLARATION. 

“ In a little moment of time, 

The bright hopes of a life all paled; 

A brave man knew he had dared the leap, 

And a proud man knew he had failed.” 

It was decided that Layton should accompany 
Fanny on her visit to her brother, when he returned 
to college, while Alice would remain with Mrs. 
Howard during her absence. 

Clive desired to know how Alice regarded Craw- 
ford's attentions, and hoped she would receive them 
favorably. He had a high regard for both, and wished 
to see them happy, but he did not like to mention the 
subject to either, as Paul had not proposed, therefore 
he questioned Fanny about it. 

** Paul is evidently much interested in Alice," said 
he. “Do you think she loves him Woman is the 
best interpreter of a woman's heart, and as you are 
intimate with her, you can tell better than V 

“ She respects him very much, and finds him an 
agreeable companion, but I think she loves him no 
more than she loves any one else," replied Fanny. 

“ Do you think if he should make her an offer, that 
she would accept it ? " 

“ Perhaps so, but — " 


(265) 


266 


SOIVING AND WAITING. 


‘‘ But what, Birdie ? as she raised her eyes doubt- 
fully to his. 

‘‘It seems to me that Alice has an exalted respect 
for everyone, but that the idea of accepting any man 
as a lover is foreign to her feelings. She is so 
comprehensive and unselfish in her love, that I am 
ashamed of my own selfishness and narrowness.’' 

“Then you think your love is selfish?” quickly 
answered Clive. 

“ May I be forgiven, if it is ! ” said Fanny, the tears 
trembling in her lashes, “ for I can no more help it 
than I can for being what I am.” 

“Your love, in its depth and purity, is a heaven- 
bestowed gift, only it is concentrated, while that of 
Alice is diffused,” said Clive, wiping away her tears. 
“I have observed in Alice,” he resumed, “amoral 
and intellectual change, which, perhaps, is only a 
larger development of her nature. Evidently she 
feels that she has some higher and nobler purpose to 
fulfil. Her devotion to what she considers duty gives 
a color of sadness to her life.” 

“ There is a struggle going on in her mind,” said 
Fanny. “ I have often observed traces of tears on 
her face, and then she would brighten with a look 
of triumph, as if she had conquered. I have urged 
her with affectionate caresses to let me share her sor- 
row, but she would tenderly and submissively reply, 
‘Dear Fanny, our Heavenly Father has laid secret 
burdens upon every heart, but He will help us to bear 




A DECLARATION. 267 

them.* I do not like to urge her further to reveal the 
cause of her sorrow.’* 

Clive was thoughtful, but at length said he believed 
Alice would be happier for the devoted love of Craw- 
ford. 

Vacation was drawing to a close, yet Paul had made 
no formal offer to Alice, not from doubt in regard to 
his own feelings, but through distrust of himself, and 
uncertainty as to how she would receive it. The even- 
ing before leaving Jefferson, he and Alice were walking 
together. They had been talking of responsibilities 
in general and of their own in particular. Alice 
urged upon Paul the duty of devoting his talents to 
some noble pursuit. She urged it as a duty to his 
parents and to society, to his country, to himself, and 
to God. Her manner and words were earnest and 
eloquent. 

“ My dear Alice, — excuse the familiar address, — 
I confess having lived a useless, aimless life, and 
acknowledge the force of your arguments ; but now I 
sincerely wish to reform. Will you assist me to do 
so.?** 

‘‘ My influence,** replied Alice, ‘‘ is of little account. 
It cannot extend beyond the very small circle of be- 
loved friends. You have my sincere wishes for your 
welfare.** 

‘‘ You undervalue your influence, Alice, unless you 
include me in your list of endeared friends, for ever 
since I came within your presence and have seen the 


268 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


purity, gentleness, and nobility of your life, I have felt 
aspirations higher and nobler than ever before, — de- 
sires you awakened. You have been the guiding star 
of my destiny. Will you not become the companion 
of my life also } ” 

Alice was not agitated nor surprised. She was 
thoughtful and for some time silent. At length she 
replied : — ^ 

“ I thank you sincerely, Paul, for the honor shown 
one so humble, the highest honor a man can give a 
woman, and if my answer gives you pain, I deeply 
regret it. For you, personally, I feel nothing but the 
highest esteem, and, judging from what I have seen 
and heard, you possess qualities adapted to make any 
woman happy who is so fortunate as to possess your 
love ; but I will not disguise from you the truth. I 
do not feel that devoted attachment which a woman 
ought to cherish for the one to whom she gives her 
hand. I think it would be impossible for me thus to 
love any one.” 

“You do not, at least, regard me with aversion,” 
said Paul. 

“ Far from it. I consider you a valuable friend, and 
hope you will regard me as such.” 

“ May I request that your decision be not final, and 
should a change in your feelings occur, will you think 
favorably of my offer } ” 

“ I do not wish to encourage false hopes, but should 
a change happen, I — ” 


A DECLARATIOAT, 269 

“Then you will be mine,” taking her hand and 
pressing it to his lips. 

It was a trying moment to Alice. She did not wish 
to encourage him, nor grieve him. She gently with- 
drew her hand. 

“ Will you promise me, Alice, that you will not give 
your affections to another, at least before considering 
well my earnest request ? ” 

“ I promise you, Paul, with the understanding that 
we remain friends.” 

“ And that we correspond as attached — cruel fate 
that I cannot use another word — friends.” 

“ I assent to that,” said Alice. 

Crawford offered his arm to Alice, and they walked 
home silent and thoughtful. She was troubled, for 
she understood she had given pain to one who loved 
and honored her above all others. She highly valued 
his character, but how could she be false to him and 
to herself.^ She feared that unintentionally she had 
encouraged his hopes, but the duty of entertaining 
him as a guest had especially devolved upon, her, 
and how could she avoid him } 

Paul Crawford felt keenly the refusal of Alice to 
receive him as a lover, but he hoped in time to win 
her heart. His wounded self-love was soothed by the 
kind manner in which his offer had been received, and 
the acknowledgment from Alice that she prized his 
friendship. That word friendship seemed such a 
mogkery ; he womld eliminate it from the language. 


2^0 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


Sometimes, in the intensity of his emotions, he almost 
wished she would hate him, for then he could sooner 
forget her. 

The next day Paul was to leave the Doctor’s and 
return to college, but when the time came for him to 
go, Alice was absent. He anxiously waited for her, 
until the stage drove up to the public house, when, at 
the last moment, she appeared with her hands full of 
flowers. 

“Alice, will you give me one of those flowers.?” 
said Crawford. She selected one of the choicest roses 
and gave it to him. He then took her hand, saying, 
“You have given me both pleasure and pain, the lat- 
ter unintentionally, but I shall ever cherish a tender 
remembrance of you and the fond hopes you have 
awakened.” This was said in a low tone that no one 
else could hear. 

“Adieu my — friend.” 

“ May heaven bless you, Paul,” was her reply. 

In another moment he was gone, but he felt that 
his future happiness depended upon her decision. 

The rose he cherished with loving care, regarding 
it as the emblem of the giver, and when all its petals 
had faded and withered, he still kept it as a sacred 
memento of the one dear to him. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


LIFE AT THE COTTAGE. 

“In the pure loves of child and mother, 

Two human loves make one divine.” 

Fanny had completed her preparations for her 
journey, and a few days after Crawford left, accom- 
panied by Clive, she parted from her friends at the 
Cottage, to be absent until autumn. The children 
all bade her good-bye, and embraced her with kisses ♦ 
repeated many times, until she forcibly separated 
from them, and Clive promised to bring her back 
before long. After he had graduated and settled 
upon his future course, they would visit Fanny’s 
mother, Mrs. Sherwood. 

Fanny had not seen her oldest brother since she 
left school, more than a year before ; now she was to 
return to the place where she had spent some of the 
happiest days of her youth as a pupil in Clermont 
Academy. Her brother, in whose family she had 
passed her school years, was so much older than she, 
that he seemed a father to her. He was reserved 
and somewhat stern in manners, exacting in the 
observance of the rules of the family ; so that the 
affectionate, vivacious little Fanny, when she first 
(271) 


2/2 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


became an inmate of his household, passed many 
unhappy hours in consequence of the restraint placed 
upon the freedom of her actions. She must love 
somebody with all the ardor of her soul, and she 
longed to express her feelings by caresses and endear- 
ing names ; but her brother’s manner was so cold and 
dignified that the ardor of her affection was repressed. 
She felt more freedom with her sister-in-law, but the 
difference in their ages and temperaments prevented 
a perfect bond of sympathy between them. She, 
however, found a congenial friend in Mrs. Sherwood’s 
sister, Kate Hastings, a young girl about her own 
age. 

There was no railway connecting Jefferson with 
Clermont, therefore the journey must be performed 
by stage, which now would be considered slow and 
tedious. The distance, which could have been passed 
by rail in a few hours, required the greater part of the 
day. Clive accompanied Fanny to a place within a 
few miles of her friend’s home, where she was met by 
her brother’s carriage, while Layton went to his own 
home some miles distant. Mr. Sherwood expressed 
much surprise at seeing his sister, and could hardly 
believe she was the same little merry, thoughtless 
child she seemed when she left school. She had 
gained in stature, while her intellectual powers had 
also been developed, though she preserved her simple 
manners, always childlike. Her brother was proud 
of her, for he had never supposed she possessed the 


LIFE A 7' THE COTTAGE. 


273 


Strength of character and mind she exhibited when 
he understood her better. 

Alice, after spending a week with her new aunt, 
the wife of Dr. Clive, returned to Glen Cottage, and 
assumed Fanny’s position in teaching the children. 
Mrs. Howard had watched over her young sister with 
a mother’s affection, giving her instruction and coun- 
sel in whatever she believed would prepare her for 
usefulness and life’s duties, always 'offering her sym- 
pathy in her joys and sorrows, encouraging her in 
every effort to improve, and excusing her failures 
when she made an effort to succeed. 

Fanny was aware of this, and often expressed her 
gratitude and affection. 

/'What a dear, kind sister you are, Paulina; you 
are so indulgent, yet you do not spoil me. How can 
I repay your love and patience ? ” 

“ I shall be more than repaid, if you are a good and 
useful woman, trying to make others happy.” 

"I don’t love Tousin Clive,” said Lillie, adopting 
Lucy’s manner of address, "’tause he carried off my 
Aunty.” 

He will bring her back again,” replied Anna. 

"No, he won’t, ’tause he’s naughty.” 

"Aunt Fanny will be sorry, if you don’t like him, 
Lillie.” 

" Does she love him ? ” inquired Lucy. 

" Of course she does,” said Anna. " Should n’t 
you love your husband, Lucy ? ” 


274 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“Why, yes, I suppose so ; but is Cousin Clive Aunt 
Fanny’s husband ? ” 

“ Not yet, but he intends to be sometime.” 

No one ever told her so, but she inferred it from 
her own observation. 

“ Little eyes and ears are attentive,” said Alice to 
Mrs. Howard. 

“Yes; and it is important that we should be on 
our guard before'them. Children are keen observers 
and always drawing their own conclusions, sometimes 
wrong, but as often right or nearly so.” 

Alice found in Mrs. Howard a true and devoted 
friend, who supplied the place of her own mother as 
nearly as a stranger could. Her quick and deep 
sympathy was grateful to Alice. Mrs. Howard l\ad 
suspected she had some secret sorrow she was trying 
to conceal, but she did not ask her to reveal it, pre- 
ferring to leave it to Alice, who longed to make it 
known to her friend, yet on Fanny’s account she 
refrained from doing so, and resolved to conquer or 
endure it alone. Clive and Fanny were the frequent 
topics of conversation at the Cottage, and Alice was 
busy planning some surprise for them when they 
assumed the responsibility of housekeeping. 

“ I am surprised you find time to accomplish so 
much, Alice,” said Mrs. Howard. 

“ I hardly know myself, but I suppose it is because 
I find so much pleasure in working for those I love.” 

She had found teaching somewhat burdensome at 


LIFE AT THE COTTAGE. 


275 


first, but each day's experience made it easier until 
she felt pleasure in the discharge of her duties. For- 
merly, Lucy had defied her authority, but since the 
child had been under the influence of Mrs. Howard, 
Alice had less difficulty in exacting obedience than 
she expected. Sometimes, however, Lucy's temper 
became uncontrollable, when Mrs. Howard’s authority 
interfered with success, and a rebellion was avoided. 
The children were fond of their teacher, and it was 
now ‘‘Cousin Alice” as it had formerly been “Aunt 
Fanny.'' 

Willie had been a very healthy child, and required 
but little care, but now he began to show symptoms of 
debility. He was fretful, and demanded his mother's 
attention, so that the care of the other children 
principally devolved upon Alice. Willie grew worse, 
and cried, especially at night, almost incessantly, 
giving his mother great anxiety. Heretofore, during 
her hours of watching, when sickness entered the 
household, she had received aid and encouragement 
from her husband, but now she must bear these 
burdens alone. 

One night, Willie grew worse so rapidly, that his 
anxious mother resolved to send for the physician in 
the morning, and as soon as the dawn appeared she 
awakened Anna whom she sent to Mr. Walton's to 
ask Henry to send Dr. Clive. 

Mrs. Walton soon came, when she found the child 
very ill; and by the time the Doctor arrived his 


2/6 


SOIF/NG AND WAITING. 


symptoms had become serious. Willie was in his 
mother’s arms when the physician, taking a seat near, 
in his calm, quiet manner, looked at his watch, then 
placing his fingers on the invalid’s wrist, earnestly 
watched his patient some minutes without saying a 
word. After a while, which to Mrs. Howard seemed 
an age, he inquired how long the child had been ill. 
You consider him very ill.^^” said Mrs. Walton. 

“ Yes,” was the answer. 

“ Have you any fears of convulsions. Doctor ? ” 
Yes.” 

Mrs. Howard, who understood the Doctor’s mood, 
had refrained from asking any questions, but she knew 
he was anxious. The thought of losing her darling 
child was agonizing, but she tried to suppress her 
grief, though her efforts were inefifectual. The Doctor 
gave directions about the patient, left some medicine, 
and then for the first time addressed Mrs. Howard. 

This child,” said he, “ must be kept perfectly 
quiet. I will return in a few hours.” He then told 
the mother what to do in case of convulsions. 

Aunt Jenny, whose experiences with the suffering 
rendered her presence invaluable, took Willie from his 
mother’s arms to relieve her, and requested that 
water might be heated to be in readiness if needed. 
The child was unconscious, but the movement of his 
eyes and the nerves about his mouth indicated 
convulsions. 

When the other children saw Willie, who, to them. 


LIFE AT THE COTTAGE. 


277 


appeared dead, they began to cry, and to remove 
them from the scene, Mrs. Walton suggested that 
they should be taken to her house, to stay with Mary. 

Mrs. Howard approved of the plan, but detained 
Anna, as she might be needed at home. Therefore, 
Lucy and Lillie were sent away, and Anna was cau- 
tioned not to cry lest it should distress her little 
brother. 

mamma, is Willie going to die Will God 
take him away, as He did papa.^’' 

do not know, my darling. Whatever He does 
will be right.*' 

“ Is it kind for Him to take my dear, only brother, 
mamma ? ” 

‘‘ It is kind, my child, though we may not be willing 
He should.” 

Mrs. Howard was struggling with her own heart, 
for she was conscious that there was only the faintest 
hope for him, yet she held to that with the firmness a 
drowning man clings to a proffered rope. 

“Mamma,” said Anna, “if I ask God to spare 
Willie, won't He.?” 

“Perhaps He may.” 

After the answer given, she frequently went to her 
room, and kneeling down, besought Him with tears, 
saying, “Dear heavenly Father, make little brother 
well again, and then mamma, Lillie, and I will be so 
happy. Oh, do, please. Father, for Jesus' sake.'' 

Coming from her room, she would watch the little 


2/8 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


sufferer, but seeing no signs that her prayer was 
heard, she would return to solicit more earnestly the 
desired blessing. 

Finally, her mother, thinking it was too much for 
the child's sensitive nature, sent her from the sick 
room. 

A few hours after the Doctor left, Willie had a con- 
vulsion, as had been feared, and this was followed by 
others, so that when Dr. Clive returned, and saw the 
condition of his patient, he remained through the 
night, and did not leave him until all danger had 
passed. 

The news of Willie's illness brought the neighbors 
to the Cottage to make inquiries and offer their ser- 
vices. In a country neighborhood, each one is inter- 
ested in the affairs of all the others, and if any one is 
in trouble, the feelings of all the rest are in sympathy. 
Has any one been especially prosperous, all the neigh- 
bors are interested, not always without envy, for that 
is incident to human nature, but no one missed a 
friend in time of need, in a New England country 
town, at the time represented in this story, though 
occasionally the officious kindness of the people was 
annoying, especially when one was ill, and quietness 
was indispensable. 

It is not always agreeable to have one's private 
business inspected and planned by one's neighbors, 
or pointed questions asked concerning affairs that 
ought to be kept secret, but many of these unpleas- 


LIFE AT THE COTTAGE. 


279 

ant conditions can be overlooked on account of the 
genuinely kind acts done and feelings expressed. 

The next day, Willie appeared so much better, that 
the other children were permitted to return home, 
greatly to their joy, and the little invalid smiled at 
seeing them. His mother could repress her feelings 
no longer, for her nerves had been severely taxed by 
anxiety, watching, and loss of sleep; hence there was 
a reaction. Aunt Jenny had returned, after attend- 
ing to her own family, and persuaded Mrs. Howard 
to seek rest in sleep, while she would take her place. 
Willie, after the crisis had passed, began to amend, 
and improved so rapidly that, in the course of a week, 
the usual family and school duties were resumed. 

Housekeepers of the present day may be perplexed 
to understand how Mrs. Howard could accomplish so 
much, and apparently with so little effort. It was 
chiefly due to her excellent methods, though some- 
thing must be attributed to the more simple mode of 
living then than now. Every member of the family 
did something towards the general welfare of the 
whole. As soon as the children could walk^ she be- 
gan to teach them habits of order, and when play 
hours were over their toys must be collected and 
placed in a box used for the purpose, by their own 
little hands. As soon as they were three years old 
they began to dress and undress themselves, and 
though at first slow and awkward, she did not say, 
as some mothers do when attempting to teach inex- 


28o . SOtV/ATG AND WAITINC, 

perienced fingers, that it requires so much time and 
patience she preferred to do it herself. Mrs. How- 
ard had a place for everything, and the children soon 
learned that each article must be in its appropriate 
place. She obliged them to wait upon themselves 
when possible, and it was not often they were heard to 
say, ‘‘ Mamma, where are my dolls and toys } ” If by 
any carelessness on their part they had been lost, they 
must do without them, for the other members of the 
family must not be taken from their work to look 
after the missing articles. Nails and hooks were 
within reach of short arms, so that when outside gar- 
ments were removed they could be placed on them 
by the owners. The daughters were taught not only 
to help themselves, but to assist their mother also in 
her domestic duties, sewing, and knitting. When Dr. 
Clive placed Lucy under her care, he insisted she 
should be taught in all these branches of domestic 
affairs, but her teacher found it a difficult task at first, 
as the child had no idea of order. The house pre- 
sented a scene of wild confusion, quite unknown in 
the history of Glen Cottage, when this undisciplined 
child first came there, but later there was a great 
change in many respects, so that Mrs. Howard was 
surprised and gratified at the improvement her pupil 
had made. This result was partly due to the example 
of the Howard children, for when Lucy saw Anna 
and Lillie orderly and helpful, and heard their mother 
commend them, even if they sometimes failed, she 


LIFE AT THE COTTAGE. 


281 


desired to emulate them, but it often required more 
skill and patience than she could command, when her 
temper would assert its power ; but these demonstra- 
tions became less frequent as she became accustomed 
to Mrs. Howard's calm, decided manners, and under- 
stood that she could neither frighten nor persuade 
her teacher, nor exhaust her patience ; and when 
Lucy fully understood this she seldom attempted it. 

When Dr. Clive decided to introduce to his home 
a second wife, he requested Mrs. Howard to impart 
the news to Lucy, supposing his child would express 
decided opinions on the subject. 

Had she never been acquainted with Mrs. Howard, 
she might, perhaps, have been pleased with the idea of 
having a new mother, at least until her will had been 
opposed by that of the stranger, but she had become so 
ardently attached to her friend at the Cottage, whom 
she regarded as a mother, that the idea of any other 
person sustaining that relation aroused a feeling of 
strong opposition. 

Lucy," said Mrs. Howard, seating the child in 
her lap, ‘‘your mother, who died before you were old 
enough to remember her, loved you very much. Do 
you not think you would have loved her ? " 

“Yes," said the child, placing her arms around her 
friend, and kissing her, “just as I love you." 

“Wouldn’t you like another mother, to love and 
care for you ? " 

“ You are my mamma, for you take care of me." 


282 


SOIVING AND WAITING. 


“ I cannot always care for you, Lucy. Sometime 
you will go home to live with your papa, and then 
you will need a mother.*’ 

“ I shall always live with you and I don’t want 
another mamma.” 

Your father is going to bring home a new 
mother, and I hope you will love her.” 

‘‘ I shan’t love her. I don’t want any mamma but 
you,” was the decided reply. 

Mrs. Howard did not pursue the subject any 
further then, but after Mrs. Clive came to her new 
home, she and Alice often spoke of the step-mother 
in Lucy’s presence as a kind lady, fond of children. 
This excited the child’s curiosity. Mrs. Clive had 
sent her a wax doll and several other presents, which 
made a favorable impression on Lucy’s mind, though 
she could not be induced to say she liked the stranger, 
or preferred her to Mrs. Howard. In a few days the 
Doctor came for his daughter to present her to his 
companion, but she did not rush to her arms, as was 
her custom with her friends, but was shy and reserved. 
She was afraid she might be compelled to leave Glen 
Cottage, but Mrs. Clive’s manner was such as to win 
the child’s confidence, and in the course of a week 
she had become quite reconciled to the new arrange- 
ments, though she frequently inquired when she could 
return to the Howards. 

As Lucy had improved so much and was in a way of 
improving still more, her father considered it best for 


LIFE AT THE COTTAGE. 


283 


her to return to Mrs. Howard's and remain for the 
present, if his wife did not feel injured. When the 
child understood she was to return, she seemed very 
happy and said she had two mothers, Mamma 
Howard and Mamma Doctor." The Howards were 
delighted when she returned, as she added so much 
life and pleasure to the family, by her lively ways and 
merry laugh. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


ADIEU TO ALMA MATER. 

Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.” 

Clive Layton spent the few days before Com- 
mencement with his mother. There was a strong 
likeness between them, not only in looks, but in their 
moral and intellectual qualities. Her husband having 
died when Clive was a lad, Mrs. Layton was accus- 
tomed to rely on her son, and thus a strong bond of 
sympathy existed between them. She was his con-<* 
fidant and friend, entering into his plans and encour- 
aging his aspirations, notwithstanding the difference 
in their ages and relations. The mother had retained 
the freshness of her earlier days in an eminent degree, 
and could participate in all the hopes, joys, and pur- 
suits of youth with enthusiasm. She had, in no 
small degree, laid the foundation of Clive's high moral 
character, strengthened by his conscientious regard 
for his mother’s instructions. She would attend the 
graduation exercises of her son, who had invited 
Fanny, her brother and his family to be present, and 
had made preparations to entertain the party. 

Fanny was somewhat excited at the thought of 
meeting Clive’s mother, and at the same time was 
anxious that her brother should receive a favorable 
(284) 


ADIEU TO ALMA MATER. 


285 


impression of her betrothed, but rnore especially that 
the latter should do honor to himself in the Commence- 
ment exercises. With all these anxieties she could 
not rest the night previous to the ceremonies nor did 
she have an appetite for breakfast. Mr. Sherwood, 
with his wife, Fanny, and Kate Hastings, went in his 
own carriage, and the ride and fresh air brought the 
color to Fanny's cheeks, and lustre to her eyes, so 
that, when they arrived at Dartmouth, she looked as 
well as her friends could wish. 

Clive had an honorable part assigned him in the 
exercises, and when he appeared before the large 
audience of attentive listeners, he looked pale and 
seemed excited at first, but his agreeable voice, form, 
and manners soon attracted the audience, which 
inspired l)im with courage, and at the close, he was 
highly applauded. His essay was full of valuable 
thoughts ; his language elegant, and his gestures 
graceful, so that his most fastidious friends were 
charmed. There were two in the assembly who 
were anxious when he appeared on the platform, but 
their fears were changed into joyful pride when he 
retired amid the applause of his college mates. Paul 
Crawford, another graduate, was cheered for his wit, 
and became the life of the company at Clive's enter- 
tainment after the exercises ; and by his easy and 
agreeable manners, made himself admired by all. 

Mr. Sherwood met with a number of his classmates 
who came from different parts of the country to cele- 


286 


SOIVING AND WAITING. 


brate the anniversary of their graduation. One ob^ 
ject of his presence at the Commencement was to 
gain some knowledge of Layton's talents before ap- 
pointing him principal of Clermont Academy. He 
was highly gratified at the result, and decided to 
secure his services, therefore he invited Clive to visit 
Clermont, and become acquainted with the institution. 

The next day Clive Layton bade adieu to his Alma 
Mater where he had spent four years, the happiest of 
his life, and now was to enter upon the active duties 
of his chosen profession. He made a visit to Cler- 
mont, and was pleased with the town, and after meet- 
ing the trustees, was appointed principal of the 
Academy, and would begin his labors in two weeks. 

Fanny participated in the pleasure Clive felt at the 
prospect before him, and became interested in the 
town, the walks, and charming scenery, the Academy, 
and especially for its having been the place where 
many of her young friends had been educated. Mrs. 
Howard and Alice received frequent communications 
from her, giving the particulars of her experience, of 
Clive’s success, and their hopes of future happiness, 
expressing her fears that she might fail in her duties, 
and making inquiriesa bout affairs at the Cottage, etc. 

O Paulina,” she wrote, ‘‘ my thoughts and feelings 
are so contradictory I cannot understand them. My 
experience for the last few weeks has been so strange 
and unexpected that I almost believe I am in Fairy- 
land, and can never return to my dull prosy life. My 


ADIEU TO ALMA MATER, 


287 


regard for Clive controls every other feeling. I 
could not be happy if separated from him, yet when 
he speaks of our marriage another year, it causes me 
anxiety, for I have considered that event as one in 
the distant future. I am so young, ignorant, and in- 
experienced. What if I should fail to make our 
domestic life happy } 

Alice received a letter from Crawford soon after he 
graduated, so delicate in its expression of friendship, 
so carefully guarded in giving utterance to a stronger 
feeling, lest it might wound, so grateful for her benefi- 
cial influence over him, and directing him to a better 
life, so full of hope and promise for the future, that she 
felt a deeper respect for him than ever before. Her 
reply to this letter accorded with her previous manner 
toward him. He did not expect anything different, 
but he cherished her sincere expressions of regard, 
and determined to overcome his repugnance to apply 
himself to some useful labor,, and began to seek a 
worthy object. His mind was assuming a serious 
mood in regard to his own responsibilities. He felt 
that his life had been a failure ; that he had lived only 
for his own pleasure, which was beneath the dignity 
of any human being. How ignoble all his purposes 
seemed. Even his pursuit of knowledge was merely 
to gratify his tastes. How he had wasted or buried 
the talents heaven had bestowed for a good purpose. 
He felt a desire to change his whole manner of life, 
but how to do it was a question he could not solve. 


288 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


He did not, however, feel his own weakness so com- 
pletely, as to seek for higher wisdom ; he only saw 
“through a glass darkly.’' He was led into the per- 
fect light of day, by a severer discipline. Those 
whom' our heavenly Father loves, He chastens, and 
often those whom He employs for great usefulness, 
He purifies by fire. 

A short time after Alice received Paul’s letter, she 
went to the village to visit some of her patients, and 
after her return she seemed depressed, and her eyes 
filled with tears. Mrs. Howard, noticing her manner, 
inquired whether anything unusual had made her sad. 

“Nothing unusual, dear Paulina, but I have been 
trying in vain to work out a problem in the Divine 
dispensation, but thd^ more I think of it, the more I 
am perplexed,” replied Alice with a sigh. 

“ What is the problem that distresses you so much ? ” 

“ The Creator has made the human heart with 
great capacities and exquisite sensibilities, and yet in 
His economy, this delicate organ is constantly acted 
upon by the most discordant agencies. Its tender 
chords are frequently put to a painful tension, or 
snapped asunder by some rude hand. Oh, why was it 
made capable of feeling so keenly ? ” Overpowered 
by her emotions, she covered her face and burst into 
tears. 

Mrs. Howard placed Alice’s head upon her shoulder, 
and tenderly caressed her, striving to soothe her grief. 

“ Let me help you bear your burdens, dear Alice ; 


ADIEU TO ALMA MATER. 


289 


your sympathies have been too highly excited ; your 
physical strength is not equal to such demands. The 
flood-gates of sorrow have been forced open. Let 
nature have her course, and these tears will relieve 
your burdened heart.” 

Alice wept passionately for a few moments, then 
her grief had spent itself, and she became calm, and, 
smiling, said : — 

“ Now I can command myself ; my feelings obtained 
the mastery, for a time, but I will trust in my Heavenly 
Father.” 

‘‘Yes, Alice, we must walk by faith. There are 
mysteries in His dealings with His creatures we can- 
not understand; but He does not see fit to explain 
them to us, therefore we may conclude it is not best 
for us to know them, but what we do not understand 
now, we may hereafter.” 

“That hereafter,” said Alice, “ sometimes appears 
very near, and I have a longing, at times, to penetrate 
its dark mysteries. Perhaps we shall understand why 
your dear husband was so suddenly removed, leaving 
you to mourn the remainder of your life, or why poor 
Millie was permitted to love, be betrayed, and die so 
sadly.” Tears came into her eyes again. 

“Yesterday,” said Mrs. Howard, “Willie was in 
the garden with me. He is rejoicing in his newly 
discovered powers of locomotion, and takes great 
delight in running about, but his feet often trip, and 
he gets some bruises. In his attempts to pull roses 


290 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


from the bushes, thorns lacerated his fingers, when he 
cried from the pain. Sometime after, I saw him with 
a large worm he was just putting in his mouth when 
I made a sudden spring and arrested his movement. 
He was so displeased, it was some time before he 
ceased to cry. I think he is a good illustration of 
what we are in relation to some of our Heavenly 
Father's dealings with us. We are often as blind, 
ignorant, and self-willed as a little child, and He 
allows us on account of our pride and self-will to have 
our own way as a punishment for our presumption.” 

‘‘Though you often grieve little Willie,” said Alice, 
“ by withholding some fancied pleasure, yet he comes 
to your arms for protection and sympathy just the 
same, so we should trust our heavenly Father with 
the same child-like confidence.” 

Alice did not reveal what wounded her feelings so 
deeply. One of her acquaintances, in a heartless 
manner — it might only have been carelessness, but 
to be careless of the feelings of others is heartless — 
said to her : — 

“Then Clive Layton is engaged to Fanny Sher- 
wood. Well, I would be even with him, if he deserted 
me in that way. I would set my ca*p for Paul Craw- 
ford. He is rich and handsome, and much the best 
fellow. Who would want to marry a schoolmaster.^^' 

This was said by young Merill who could never 
forgive Layton for carrying off his prize. 

Alice felt the taunt, for such she considered it, and 


ADIEU TO ALMA MATER. 


291 


was offended at his coarse familiarity, but she did not 
trust herself to reply, and felt unhappy for some time. 
She said to herself : Did the public believe that Clive 
had rejected her unspoken love, or if he had, that he 
would make it known to others } Did people believe 
she was foolish enough to marry to spite a false lover ? ” 
She began to distrust everyone, and sighed for a quiet 
retreat from the harsh judgment of the world. . How 
great is the misery often caused by a thoughtless 
word ; how much greater, then, those spoken in malice. 
It has been well said, that words are like arrows 
shot at random. They often wound where least 
expected. Such an arrow had so penetrated the 
heart of Alice, that she was reluctant to meet her 
gay associates, lest she might suffer again from the 
same cause. She especially avoided Merill and his 
friend Owen, who was very repulsive to her, espe- 
cially as he insisted on seeking her society. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


RESOLUTIONS. 

“ Rise, behold thy place appointed, 

God has work for thee to do; 

Ponder well thy perfect model. 

Trace thine outline bold and true.” 

The time with Clive and Fanny passed swiftly 
away, for they were living in an ideal world, where 
everything was adorned with roseate hues. They 
returned from their visit to Clermont, and Clive was 
planning his work in school, where, a short time be- 
fore, he had been appointed principal. Mr. Sherwood’s 
house would be his home until he could have one of 
his own. Crawford came, ostensibly to see his old 
friends, but really to hear from Alice. He had long 
conversations with Clive respecting his plans and 
views. 

“Paul,” said Layton, “you, have greatly changed 
of late. You are laying aside your indifference and 
are manifesting a greater inclination for a useful life. 
I am happy to see this, but I hope you will not lay 
aside your natural cheerfulness.” 

“ You see me on the stool of repentance,” said Paul 
in his bantering tone, “and it is proper that I should 
have a sober face. Seriously, I have spent many of 
C292; 


RESOLUTIONS. 


293 


my best days to little purpose. To be sure, I have 
passed through a regular course of study, with a fair 
reputation, if I can trust the Faculty, but for all that, 
where am I to-day } Without a profession selected, 
and, what is worse, I find it nearly impossible to 
settle upon one. I am not satisfied to lead an idle 
life, but what can I do.^” 

‘‘ I suspect if your father had been a poor man, and 
you had been obliged to depend upon your own exer- 
tions, as I have done, you would not now be in such 
a dilemma,*' said Layton, laughing. 

‘‘You were always fortunate, Clive; you have not 
only yourself to care for, but a charming little fairy, 
who clings to you as the child does to its mother, 
but I have no such incentive.*’ 

“True,” replied Clive, “a man alone is less than 
a man, since his better half is wanting; but, Paul, 
with your attractions and means, you ought not to 
shrink from fulfilling your destiny.” 

“ What, that of a family man ? ** inquired Paul. 

“ Yes, if you consider that your calling. Seriously, 
Crawford, why do you not devote your fine talents to 
something noble and worthy of yourself ? ** 

“ I never was more serious in my life than when I 
told you that was my desire, but I am still in the dark 
as for what I am adapted. I suppose you will hardly 
believe me when I say that I am willing to perform 
much labor to make myself useful to some poor, 
unfortunate creature more unhappy than I am.” 


294 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“ Doing good to others is excellent medicine for 
heart disease/’ said Layton. 

Paul did not tell his friend that he had been bestow- 
ing charity in various ways, and that he had supplied 
Alice with the means of relieving the poor under her 
charge, and that he was trying to emulate her in work, 
only in a different way, but these efforts had failed to 
quiet his troubled mind. His mother’s unaffected 
piety commended her faith to his consideration, and 
she had listened to an account of his doubts, his 
hopes, his fears, and his aspirations. She could not 
argue with him, but she gave hirn counsel and encour- 
agement. 

Paul and Alice corresponded regularly, but their 
letters were only those of friendship. Though it was 
unsatisfactory to Paul, still he cherished them as his 
most valued treasures. 

Crawford’s father had desired him, after his gradua- 
tion, to spend some time in travelling abroad, and he 
now urged him to embrace a favorable opportunity for 
a visit to Europe. Paul once favored the scheme, but 
since his acquaintance with Alice Bradford, he had 
thought but little of it. As his friends urged it so 
strongly he yielded, and prepared for an absence of 
several months. Before leaving, he informed Alice 
of his determination and asked the privilege of con- 
tinuing their correspondence. He closed his letter 
by saying that his regard for her was unalterable, and 
he hoped she would be true to her promise, if she 


RESOLUTIONS. 


295 


could not give him any further encouragement. She 
replied by renewing her pledge, but did not think she 
had changed her mind. Had she given him the 
slightest encouragement the voyage would have been 
abandoned. 

In a few days Crawford sailed for a foreign land, 
but he could not say how long he might be absent ; 
he would be governed by circumstances. 

Clive entered upon his career as principal, and 
Fanny returned to her sister, Mrs. Howard. Alice, 
whose delicate health required rest and change, visited 
the Doctor’s friends in her mother’s native place. 
The return of Fanny was a joyful event to the inmates 
of Glen Cottage, since they had counted the days 
from the reception of her last letter, and had planned 
various agreeable surprises for Aunty” when she 
came, yet no one did what she purposed to do, but 
each one was intent on relating what was uppermost 
in her own mind. 

Fanny listened to all their little tales of what had 
happened during her absence, the children all talking 
together, each one trying to gain her attention. 
There was so much to be said that they were allowed 
to sit up half an hour later this evening, and after the 
younger members of the household had retired, the 
older ones remained until a late hour, conversing 
upon topics interesting to both. There was no re- 
serve, as Fanny expressed her feelings and wishes, 
her hopes and fears to her sister, as she would to a 


296 SOPV/NG AND WAITING. 

mother, and sought her advice in all her plans, as 
any child might have done. She had always been 
regarded as such, and indulged as the youngest of the 
family usually is, and being conscious of the fact, she 
mistrusted her own judgment and relied upon others, 
but after coming to Jefferson, Mrs. Howard always 
encouraged her to depend more upon herself, and 
sometimes she intentionally withheld her advice until 
Fanny had formed a decision. The subject which, 
at this time and subsequently, was most interesting 
to the sisters was Fanny’s marriage and the prepara- 
tions for housekeeping involving so many duties and 
responsibilities. 

‘‘ My dear Paulina, what shall I do without your 
advice, as I suppose I must leave you some time.?” 

“You will then be obliged to depend upon yourself 
to a great extent.” 

“ Can’t I go to Clive for counsel .? ” 

Certainly, in many instances, when you are per- 
plexed about what duty is, but you ought not to 
trouble him with all your little cares ; you must some- 
times bear them alone. He will have his burdens, 
and when he returns to his home, instead of being 
annoyed with a list of grievances which some fore- 
thought on your part might have prevented, he will 
expect to find an asylum of rest from the perplexities 
and cares of school.” 

Paulina, the more I think about it, the greater my 
anxiety that I may not meet the expectation3 of Clive.” 


RESOLUTIONS. 


297 


‘'If he is reasonable, as I believe he is, he will not 
expect perfection in his companion, and also will 
remember his own deficiencies which will need in- 
dulgence. Between the most exemplary husbands 
and wives, mutual forbearance and charity are con- 
stantly needed.” 

Many were the noble resolutions Fanny made and 
the high aims to which she aspired for her future 
conduct, but which, doubtless, she found it difficult 
always to attain ; yet forming good resolutions gave 
her strength and courage. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


PARENTAL DUTIES. 

“ Be obeyed when thou commandest, but command not often.” 

Willie became more interesting and necessary to 
the family at Glen Cottage every day, and though his 
mother did not love him more than she loved the 
other children, still the fact of his being her only 
son, early deprived of a father’s care, caused a pecu- 
liar tenderness for him, while his sex made her feel 
anxious about his future career. At this early age 
he had given positive evidence of possessing a strong 
will, and his mother had several struggles with him as 
to which should conquer. Her theory was to teach 
the child to submit to his parent as early as he could 
understand the nature of obedience. In the case of 
her two eldest children, she had succeeded after a few 
contests, especially with Anna, but she met with 
greater opposition from Willie in his efforts to assert 
his independence. When seated with the family at 
the table, his mother insisted that he should behave 
with propriety. The little child had a seat next his 
mother, that position always being given to the young- 
est member. For a few times she allowed him some 
liberties, until he became accustomed to his new posi- 
tion, when he amused Lucy and Lillie by his roguish 
(298) 


PARENTAL DUTIES. 


299 


ways. He would try to grasp the tea-pot with his little 
plump hands, and when his mother gently rapped his 
fingers he would shut his eyes and withdraw them, 
then open and close his eyes again and make another 
attempt. He would pat his tin plate on one side with 
both hands, then turn it over and perform the same 
operation on the other side, place it on his head, and 
finally toss it about until it rolled under the table, 
which caused a burst of laughter from the other chil- 
dren. His mother recovered the plate and placed it 
before him, when, seeing it amused them, he took it 
and was going to throw it on the floor again. His 
mother said, *'No, Willie must not do it.'’ 

The little child held it for a moment, with his eyes 
on his mother, looking roguishly and defiantly, as if 
not quite sure that she was in earnest, then threw it 
down. She replaced it, after repeating her command, 
but the plate was thrown to the floor with more vio- 
lence, when he was removed from the table and seated 
on the floor at some distance. 

Willie was taken by surprise at this sudden change, 
and for a moment was silent, but as soon as he com- 
prehended his situation he began to scream and show 
signs of anger, though his mother pretended not to 
notice him, when he arose and went to her to be 
taken to his place at table. 

‘‘ No, Willie has been naughty. Mamma cannot let 
him come." 

His pleading availed nothing; she was inflexible. 


300 


SOILING AND WAITING. 


but he continued his pleadings until breakfast was 
over, when he went to sleep crying in his mother s 
arms. The next day the battle was renewed, as Mrs. 
Howard supposed it would be, when the plate was 
again dashed to the floor. This time she insisted 
that Willie should take it up ; he refu.sed to obey, yet 
she repeated her command, when he came to her 
with tears, wishing to be taken in her arms ; but she 
refused to grant the favor until he obeyed. One of 
Lillie’s books lay on the floor ; he brought that. 
‘‘No, Willie, the plate.” He then brought Lucy’s 
doll ; that was put aside, while his mother continued 
to enforce her command ; but the child with tears 
refused to obey. This contest went on for more than 
an hour, before the mother won the victory, when her 
repressed feelings found relief in tears. 

Willie never attempted to resist so stubbornly 
again, though for a number of years there were occa- 
sional rebellions, but not so continued or obstinate. 

Lillie’s attachment to her brother was very ardent, 
and when he was corrected she would weep, which 
made it more trying to her mother. When Willie 
was born, his little sister at first considered him an 
intruder, and was jealous as she saw he received so 
much of their mother’s love and care, but she soon 
forgot her fancied neglect, and became greatly at- 
tached to her brother whom she had considered 
her rival. As the children grew older, their love 
strengthened for each other, and Willie was never so 


PAREIVTAL DUTIES. 


301 


happy as when his little sister allowed him to have 
her playthings, though his rough hands often broke 
or injured them. After he was old enough to get 
into danger, like a guardian angel she was near to 
shield him even in youth and manhood, when tempta- 
tions assailed him. Fortunate is the youth who is 
blessed with a sister's affection so deep, constant, and 
unselfish. 

Fanny was now looking forward to the event that, 
to her, was the most important in her earthly life, 
when her interests would be united to those of 
another. It did not appear to her what it does to 
many thoughtless persons who assume its responsi- 
bilities, for she had given the subject much thought. 
A perceptible change had taken place in her character, 
and instead of being one of the most thoughtless and 
happiest of young girls, she became thoughtful, and 
anxious to be useful and make others happy. 

The practice of married people to board," some- 
times, at hotels, boarding- houses, or private families, 
had not come into fashion, and would it not be better 
for them to follow the earlier custom } The name of 
home is divested of its charms when associated with 
these places. What constitutes a home in its high- 
est sense the question has been asked. “Not four 
walls alone, but where all the domestic virtues cluster 
around the names of husband, wife, father, mother, 
brother, sister, son, and daughter ; where all the 
conjugal, filial, and fraternal feelings are in healthful 


302 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


exercise ; where mutual burdens are lightened, mutual 
joys and sorrows are shared ; where are domestic con- 
fidences in which a stranger should never participate. 
It is where the heart’s deepest affections may be 
expressed in perfect safety.” 

It was such a home that Clive Layton and Fanny 
Sherwood pictured to themselves, and such they 
hoped to make it, as nearly as possible. The thought 
of avoiding the responsibilities of the domestic rela- 
tions never occurred to them. They bravely and 
cheerfully assumed these obligations, trusting Divine 
Providence for success. 

Clive had nothing with which to begin his chosen 
profession but a resolute will and honorable purpose, 
but he was free from any pecuniary embarrassments. 
He believed that with frugality and industry they 
might venture to start in the race of life helping and 
encouraging each other, but to attain this object, they 
must be simple and prudent in their habits. Mr. 
Sherwood advised Clive to have a home of his own 
when needed, and offered to rent him a neat little 
cottage until he was able to purchase one. The pro- 
posal met Layton’s approbation and he and Fanny 
entered upon their housekeeping plans. 

Houses were not then furnished at short notice, 
therefore there must be much planning and labor 
before the cottage would be ready for its occupants. 
This care devolved upon Fanny and her friends, 
therefore there was diligent work at Glen Cottage for 


PARENTAL DUTIES. 


303 


some months, where the thimbles and scissors were 
in constant requisition. Sheets, pillow cases, table 
cloths, towels, bed quilts, and comforters were made 
from the masses of cloth and prints in Mrs. Howard’s 
work-closet. Mrs. Walton presented as a gift several 
yards of bird’s-eye linen, while other friends brought 
their contributions. 

After Alice returned from her journey, she assisted 
with her ready needle, while Fanny’s experience in 
planning work under her sister’s training was very ser- 
viceable, and though she gave directions, she sought 
her sister’s judgment. Several “ quiltings ” occurred 
at the Cottage, when the neighbors, as was the cus- 
tom, were invited to assist. Even the little girls were 
anxious to bear a part in the preparations, and Lucy 
and Anna made very wise remarks when sewing their 
long seams. 

O dear,” said Lucy, as she threaded her needle for 
the fifth time, in hemming one towel, ‘‘ I want to finish 
this so I can go and play, but my thread plagues me so.” 

“ Look here, see what a long seam I ’ve got to 
sew,” said Anna, and sighed at the prospect. 

won’t be married,” said Lucy, **and make 
everybody sew, sew, all day long, and little girls 
prick their fingers, will you, Anna.^” 

“I don’t know ; I suppose I must,” she replied. 

‘‘ I won’t, anyhow.” 

The time quickly passed, as it generally does when 
people are very busy. Winter came again with its 


304 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


storms and cold, but the inmates of Glen Cottage 
were so occupied with work and teaching, that there 
was little time to think of the winter, when outdoor 
exercises were impracticable. 

Dr. Clive and the Waltons came quite often with 
their teams, and gave the different members of the 
family a ride, sometimes for pleasure and sometimes 
for shopping, as there were so many things to be 
purchased, so many little closets and corners to be 
filled in the new home, that it seemed that there was 
no limit to the wants of housekeepers. 

** What shall I ever do with all my goods, Paulina } 

“You will find use for all you have, and more, 
Fanny.'* 

“ Dear me ; house-keeping is a complicated busi- 
ness, is n't it ? How awkward I shall feel in my first 
attempts. I shall cut and burn my fingers, soil and 
tear my dress, and blister my face trying to cook a 
dinner," said Fanny, laughing at the picture she drew. 

“Yes, and worse still, spoil the dinner and your 
husband's temper besides," remarked Alice. 

“Oh, my husband's temper is faultless. Nothing 
could spoil that." 

“ You are mistaken, my dear," said Mrs. Howard, 
“if you consider any man's temper incapable of being 
ruffled sometimes ; but when you see a storm arising 
you should have all sunshine about you." 

“ Paulina, did you ever have any domestic storms ? " 

“ Not storms, exactly, but we had our trials, and the 


PARENTAL DUTIES. 


305 


current of domestic life did not always flow smoothly .; 
but Harvey and I made a promise, before our mar- 
riage, that when one of us felt vexed or angry the 
other should take special pains to keep cool. We 
strictly adhered to the rule, and thus avoided many 
unpleasant scenes.” 

‘‘ I shall love my husband, and he will regard me 
with so deep affection that we shall not dispute or 
quarrel.’’ 

‘‘You may not quarrel. I hope your conscience 
and sense of propriety will prevent that, but love is 
not the only human passion. There will be occasions 
when you will differ in opinions, and when it will be 
necessary for one to yield.” 

“ Do you think the wife ought always to yield to 
the husband ? ” 

“A kind and reasonable husband will not always 
require it, but unfortunately all husbands are not 
always kind and reasonable, then it is best, for the 
sake of peace, that the wife should yield, unless by 
submitting she would violate the Divine law. Neither 
are all wives reasonable and conscientious.” 

“ Clive has a firm will,” said Alice, looking archly 
at Fanny. “I always had to yield to him when we 
were children.” 

“ I am glad he has ; I shall have something to lean 
upon. A man without firmness is like a broken staff. 
I could neither love nor respect a weak-minded man,” 
said Fanny. 


3o6 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


While they were talking, the wind whistled through 
the grove and around the Cottage, which gave Mrs. 
Howard a sudden start. 

“ It appears like a storm,'’ remarked Alice, going 
to the window to observe the clouds. 

“ What day of the month is it ? ” inquired Fanny, 
unconscious that her question sent an arrow to her 
sister’s heart and -the color from her cheeks. 

‘‘ It is the fifteenth,” replied Mrs. Howard, then 
quickly arose and withdrew. 

Her apparent distress reminded Fanny that it was 
the anniversary of the death of her brother-in-law. 
She regretted her thoughtless question. Mrs. How- 
ard had not forgotten the sad incident, for she had 
been thinking about it all day, and had suffered a 
mental struggle similar to the one experienced on the 
sudden death of her husband. After a time of deep 
sorrow she regained her self-control, but the family had 
observed the suppressed state of mind she cherished 
for several days. The return of each anniversary of 
her husband’s death was the occasion of the same 
mental distress for many years, until time had grad- 
ually soothed her grief ; but as long as she lived it 
was a season of chastened sorrow, 

It was now mid-winter, when the snow covered the 
ground, and trees, fences, and walls were enveloped in 
a white sheet, and had it not been for the busy 
thoughts planning, and the diligent hands working 
within doors, life at the Cottage might have been 


PARENTAL DUTIES. 


307 


monotonous and lonely during the tedious winter. 
Any event, the most trivial, became important to the 
inmates. Two letters came regularly from Clive 
every week, but these did not belong to the family 
repository. Occasionally a message came from one 
of the Sherwoods, but Alice felt she had no interest 
in them further than that they were from those she 
respected. Where was Paul ? She had not heard 
from him since he sailed, and he promised to write 
frequently. Had he forgotten her so soon ? She was 
losing spirit, when one day Henry Walton, the mes- 
senger of the family, appeared with a package of 
letters. 

** Oh, I am so glad to see you,*' said Fanny. “ Have 
you brought any news ? " 

‘‘ I have something for Alice." 

Thank you, Henry. I hope you have brought good 
news," said Alice, extending her hand for the letter. 

Henry drew one from his pocket and examined the 
postmark very leisurely. 

It seems," said he, ‘‘ that you have friends 
abroad," with a slight twinkle in his eye. 

Alice colored and said, “ Please let me have the 
letter," taking it from his hand, and retiring to the 
window to read it. 

‘‘ Perhaps I have the introduction,"^ he remarked, 
producing another in the same handwriting. 

“ Have n’t you one for me inquired Fanny, with 
a little disappointment in her tone. 


308 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


** You have had nearly all the letters ; now you 
must go without/' replied the messenger. 

Alice had opened her letters, but seemed troubled 
to understand something they contained. Henry 
watched her perplexity, and after some delay produced 
two more letters, saying, Too much of a good thing 
at once is not wholesome." 

He started and went as far as the barn, then returned 
and gave Fanny her letter, which he pretended had 
just been discovered in his pocket. She eagerly 
broke the seal and read it, when a gleam of pleasure 
sparkled in her eyes, and a smile rippled over her 
countenance. 

“What is it. Birdie } " inquired Paulina. 

“ Clive has a vacation at the end of the week, and 
he says we may expect to see him here.” 

“ We shall all give him a hearty welcome,” replied 
her sister. 

Alice was a long time reading Paul's letters, which 
gave an account of his travels, with some passages 
Alice omitted to read aloud. 

“ He makes one request of you, Fanny, that you 
will let him know when your wedding occurs, as he 
will return to attend it.” 

“ When Clive comes we will settle that question.” 

“ Is he coming soon ? '' inquired Alice, a slight 
blush suffusing her cheeks. 

“ I expect him next week.” 

The next week brought him, notwithstanding the 


PARENTAL DUTIES. 


309 


deep snows and the difficulties of travelling. On the 
evening of his arrival he went to the Cottage, in spite 
of the deep snow between the village and Mrs. 
Howard's. 

“ Fanny, you look thin and pale," said Clive, after 
their first salutation. 

‘‘Perhaps I do," she replied, “for I have been very 
busy sewing and have had little exercise in the open air." 

“ Let the sewing go. We will do without bed quilts 
and blankets, before you injure your health and the 
roses fade from your cheeks." ^ 

“That is just like a man," said Fanny laughing. 
“ Do you suppose sheets, blankets, and quilts grow 
ready made, or do you imagine you can sleep during 
a December night without them placing her hand 
on his shoulder. He drew her close to his side and 
looked into her eyes as if to fathom their depth. 

“ Not quite so stupid, my little fairy, but I want 
you to preserve your " — he was going to say charms, 
but checked himself and said “ health." 

“What will you say to these friends referring to 
Mrs. Howard and Alice. “They have been taxing 
their energies to the utmost for us." 

“I was selfish. I acknowledge my faults. I thank 
them with all my heart, and hope I may never forget 
my obligations to them," extending his hand to Mrs. 
Howard and Alice. 

“ Clive," said Alice, with a slight agitation, “ I have 
always desired to see you happy, and if I can con- 


310 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


tribute in any small degree to that object, I shall be 
gratified/* 

“ That is like you, Alice ; you were always so unsel- 
fish.** Had Clive known the truth, he would have 
felt there was still greater cause for this remark. 

Layton*s trial at the academy had been a success. 
The school was thriving, and he was popular with 
both the pupils and the trustees. It was quite cer- 
tain he would be permanently settled as its principal, 
therefore he desired a home of his own as soon as con- 
venient. The time for their wedding was discussed. 
Clive wished an early day, but Fanny desired to 
defer it some months. Finally, after some discussion, 
it was decided to wait until June. 

“It seems a long time to wait,’* said Layton, as 
they stood at the window on the evening of the anni- 
versary of their engagement. 

“ Do you remember the event V' inquired Fanny. 

“ It will never be forgotten,** was the earnest reply. 

The setting sun appeared from a cloud, and cast his 
rays upon them for the third time, and they both 
recalled their vow. 

“ This scene, so interesting to us, we will regard as a 
favorable omen of our future happiness,’* observed Clive. 

“Yes, and may we have perpetual sunshine in our 
hearts and home,** replied Fanny. 

After a week*s absence, Layton returned to resume 
his school duties which had been interrupted by his 
absence. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE BRIDAL. 

“ The face of all the world is changed, I think, 

Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul.” 

Paul Crawford had hurried from one country to 
another, and from one object of interest to^ another, 
but had found nothing to satisfy that restless desire 
which agitated his mind and destroyed his happiness, 
though he saw much to gratify his taste and awaken 
his curiosity. The masters of art became a study for 
a time, but when his curiosity was satisfied, the old 
restlessness would return with greater vehemence 
than ever. He visited cathedrals venerable with age, 
hoping to find a solace for his troubled mind in their 
wonderful paintings and statues, and in listening to 
their music ; but these did not give him the consola- 
tion he sought, while the worship was cold and formal. 
He tried the effect of natural scenery, which was 
more in harmony with his feelings, especially the 
solitude of the mountains and forests, where he felt 
that he stood face to face with the Creator’s works. 
He lingered long in their vicinity until the season 
forced him to the city, where his unhappiness, which, 
for a time, had been soothed by contact with nature, 
returned. His letters did not reach Alice, as has 
(311) 


312 


SOWING AND WA/TING. 


been seen, until after a long absence, therefore he 
had received no communication from her. He pre- 
served her miniature which he persuaded Clive to 
loan him, and had a copy taken in Paris ; but silence 
made him fear that she had entirely discarded him. 
It was while struggling with these disappointments 
that he received letters from Alice, Clive, and Fanny 
which gave him fresh courage and strengthened him 
for the strife. As Layton would not be married until 
June, he could prolong his visit to foreign countries 
and return in time to see his friend settled for life, 
and — well, what might happen, he could not say, 
and it was best he could not, for he was not prepared 
for the trial that awaited him. 

Alice had improved somewhat by her journey in 
the autumn but only transiently, and soon the 
old languor returned with new symptoms of the in- 
sidious disease of which her mother died. She had 
kept this knowledge from her friends and appeared as 
usual, always calm and diligent. She participated in 
all the preparations for the wedding of her friends. 
Her constant labors and secret sorrows were more 
than her strength could endure, and when spring 
returned it prostrated her physical strength and 
depressed her spirits, and instead of the joy with 
which she had been accustomed to greet its return, it 
was a painful effort to take her usual walks. Nature 
appeared to her more lovely than ever before, and she 
regarded it in a different light since to her it was a 


THE BRIDAL. 


313 


type of the Heavenly Land more beautiful than the 
visible world. She would sit in the arbor for hours 
gazing at the sky, the mountains, trees, meadows, and 
flowers, and listen to the song of the birds, the hum 
of the insects, sometimes alone and sometimes with 
friends about her. Her conversation, though cheer- 
ful, inclined to be on serious topics, especially with 
Mrs. Howard, and generally of future life. Her 
thoughts seemed to soar above this world, and her 
friends felt that she belonged more to heaven than 
earth. 

One day, when alone with her, Mrs. Howard said, 

‘‘ Alice you do not appear as well as usual ; am I 
deceived ? 

Probably not,'' was the reply. ‘‘ I have not felt 
quite as strong, but please say nothing about it until 
after Fanny has gone, as I do not wish to cause her 
and Clive any anxiety." 

“You dear, generous girl, I cannot bear to see you 
suffer in silence. Will you not consult the Doctor 
about your health ? " 

“ Not at present ; I do not think, at least hope, 
there is any immediate cause of alarm." 

This was in May, and a few days after, as she 
was dressing, she felt a sudden pain in her chest, and 
placing her handkerchief to her mouth she coughed, 
and on removing it, she noticed a bright scarlet spot 
on it. She understood its meaning and sank into a 
chair greatly depressed while the tears would flow. 


314 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


though she strove hard to suppress them. She saw 
in that crimson spot her death warrant. 

Life, until the last few months, had been desirable, 
and though, in the bitterness of her early grief, 
she felt it sometimes a burden, but hoped she had 
conquered, she was mistaken ; there was one more 
conflict for her before she could claim the victor's 
crown. She desired to live that she might achieve 
noble deeds. 

‘‘ Must I die so young, when life is yet incomplete 1 
O Father, not my will, but Thine be done." 

She regained her composure and appeared before 
the family as calm as usual, but when her uncle came 
that afternoon, she had a long private conversation 
with him, and after much persuasion she induced him 
not to remove her home until after Clive’s wedding ; 
but this permission was granted on condition that she 
would inform Mrs. Howard how she was, which she 
did, and received tender care and sympathy such only 
as a mother understands. 

Paul had arrived in New York and wrote to the 
Doctor that he would be in Jefferson within a few 
days ; and soon after he wrote to Alice, stating the 
day he would be there, and expressed the hope of 
finding her improved in health. 

She had never alluded to her health in her letters 
to him^ but Fanny had intimated that she was not as 
well as when he left ; and when hearing from the 
Doctor a partial account of her condition, he became 


THE BRIDAL. 


315 


very anxious. Soon after his arrival, he repaired to 
Glen Cottage, hoping to learn that the fears of her 
friends were groundless, or at least exaggerated. 

Alice was expecting him, and tried to be very 
calm, so that to Crawford she seemed but little 
changed. She might be a trifle paler, he thought, 
but he was not certain, as the bloom was still on her 
cheeks. She received him in the same frank, cordial 
manner natural to her. He would have preferred to 
see some slight embarrassment, a drooping of the 
eyes, a slight trembling of the hand when he took it 
in his, but only one sign of tender emotion escaped 
her, — a gentle sigh. He noticed it, but mistook its 
meaning. She was thinking of the time when the 
truth must be known. 

Crawford renewed his offer with earnest expressions 
of devotion, and Alice felt he ought to know the 
truth, but hesitated to disappoint his dearly cherished 
hopes. At length she told him she believed her life 
was very short, but did not give all the reasons for 
her judgment, leaving him to learn it by degrees. 
He could not be persuaded she would not recover; 
he believed she had magnified the danger, but not- 
withstanding his ardent hopes, he was anxious and 
discouraged. 

Layton came the day after Crawford arrived. It 
had been arranged some time before, that Paul and 
Alice should act as groomsman and bridesmaid at 
the wedding. Paul and Clive years before had in jest 


3i6 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


agreed that which of them married first, the other 
should act as groomsman, little supposing that a 
thoughtless remark would, in so short a time after 
their separation as college classmates, have its fulfil- 
ment in actual fact a few days after the two friends 
met at Glen Cottage. 

Fanny selected June, the loveliest month of all the 
year, for the celebration of her marriage, because, as 
she affirmed, she wanted all nature to be cheerful and 
beautiful, an emblem of what she desired her wedded 
life to be. The day was perfect ; the songs of the 
birds, the fragrance of the flowers, the gentle breezes 
from the meadows and hills, the freshness and beauty 
of vegetation, — all combined to render the day one 
of the “rare days'’ of which the poet sings. A small 
company assembled at the Cottage, at an early hour, 
to witness the ceremony, including Mr. Goodell and 
lady. Dr. and Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Howard and Anna, 
the Waltons and a few others. The bride was 
dressed in a simple white muslin, and wore a veil 
gracefully falling over her shoulders, and held a 
bouquet of sweet and beautiful flowers, while her hair 
was dressed in curls. Alice was dressed in a similar 
manner except the veil. 

‘‘ Fanny is one of the sweetest brides I ever saw,” 
remarked Mrs. Goodell. 

Clive thought so too, and when he first saw her in 
her bridal costume, he stood entranced for a moment, 
she appeared so much more beautiful than he had 


THE BRIDAL. 


317 


ever seen her before, while Alice seemed to Crawford 
an angel clothed in white robes. After the ceremony, 
Mr. Goodell turned to Paul Crawford and said he was 
ready to perform the same rite again, and thought 
the present a suitable occasion. 

“I am quite willing,** said Paul, “but you must 
obtain the bride’s consent,** looking toward Alice. 
She colored and replied, “ It was better to have only 
one wedding at a time.** Nothing would have pleased 
her friends better than the marriage of Paul and 
Alice. 

Soon after the ceremony, the young couple took 
leave of their friends and started for their new home. 

The parting was not without tears ; Mrs. Howard, 
Alice, and the children all bade an affectionate adieu 
to Fanny and Clive with a heart full of love and ten- 
der regrets. Alice preserved her calmness until her 
friends had gone and then retired to her room. Her 
absence, at first, was not noticed, but as she did not 
make her appearance, Mrs. Howard went to see what 
was the cause. She had fainted and fallen on the 
bed. The Doctor, who had just left, was recalled, 
when restoratives were applied, but it was some time 
before any signs of life were perceived. Many of the 
guests had left, and to those who remained Mrs. 
Howard excused the absence of Alice on account of 
her fatigue, not wishing to arouse any alarm, or 
awaken any curiosity. Paul lingered, hoping to see 
her again. 


3i8 


SOmNG AND WAITING. 


** Mr. Crawford, we should like to have you remain 
with us to night,’' said Mrs. Howard. “ Alice is not 
as well as usual, and the Doctor is obliged to leave.” 

‘*What is the matter.^ What has happened to 
Alice inquired Paul. Mrs. Howard told him she 
had fainted, probably from fatigue and excitement, 
but she hoped a few days of quiet rest would restore 
her. 

The Doctor had felt much anxiety about Alice for 
some time, as she was so much like her mother in her 
constitution, he feared she might suffer in the same 
way. He had watched her symptoms very closely, 
and could not conceal the truth from his own judg- 
ment, but had not expressed his fears to any one until 
now. He told Mrs. Howard he feared a hemorrhage 
of the lungs, and charged her to keep Alice as quiet 
as possible. 

Mrs. Howard was alone with Alice when she began 
to revive. She opened and then closed her eyes, an 
act she repeated several times, and then murmured 
something which Mrs. Howard did not understand. 
She inclined her head to catch the feeble accents, and 
heard the names of Clive and Fanny and “ may it be 
the last.” 

‘‘What is it, dear Alice inquired Mrs. Howard. 

She opened her eyes again and recognized her 
friend. 

“What did I say } Is any one else here.^ ” 

“ No, we are alone.” 


THE BRIDAL. 


319 


“ Come here, I love to have you near me,” whispered 
Alice. '' Have they all gone ? ” 

“Yes, the company have all left.” 

“ I mean Clive and Fanny.” 

“Yes, dear. Don’t you remember you bade them 
good-bye } ” 

“ O yes ; I forgot*. Was it long ago } ” 

“ About an hour.” 

“ Allow me to rest on your shoulder. Now let me 
take your hand. It makes me stronger, and I can 
bear it better.” 

“ Bear what } ” inquired Mrs. Howard. “ Did you 
mean the pain } ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Where is your pain, Alice } ” 

“ It is right here,” placing her hand on her heart. 
“ It will soon be over, and I shall never suffer with it 
again. I have prayed for grace to carry me through 
this agony, and I shall triumph.” 

Mrs. Howard was sure that Alice had suffered from 
some concealed grief, and was she not correct in her 
suspicions as to the cause } 

“ How much you seem like my mother,” said Alice. 
“ She used to smooth my hair just as you do, and 
kiss my cheeks.” 

Alice was weeping, and her friend thought it would 
relieve her burdened heart, therefore allowed her to 
indulge her grief, believing it would be for her good. 
After a few moments of silence, she said, “ Alice, 


320 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


there is something that troubles you. I have noticed 
it for a long time. Would you not feel happier to 
confess your sorrow to some friend who could share 
it with you, and thus lighten it } ” 

‘'You, my dear Paulina, are the best and kindest 
friend I have, and the one whom I could entrust with 
a secret. I could not make it known before — here 
she paused, and gathering courage went on — “ Fanny 
became the companion of Clive Layton. * Perhaps 
you can understand now the reason of my sorrow.'* 

“ Do you wish me to know that you loved Clive ^ 
“Yes; I never remember the time that I did not. 
At first it was a child love, then it became a deeper 
affection, gradually and imperceptibly, until I was 
awakened as from a dream, to a consciousness of my 
true sentiments, by his devotion to Fanny.'* 

“And you have shown such devoted, unselfish 
interest in them," said Mrs. Howard. 

“ It was difficult at first, but after I became ac- 
quainted with Fanny, I loved her for her own as well 
as for Clive's sake, and resolved I would try to pro- 
mote their happiness, but keep my grief a secret. I 
have one request to make. I shall not live long, and 
I wish you to say nothing about this confession until 
I am gone, then let Clive know how highly I regarded 
him, and believe I shall still cherish a devoted affec- 
tion for him and Fanny in the world to which I am 
going, more exalted than I could here." 

Mrs. Howard regarded her very gently and lov- 


THE BRIDAL. 


321 


ingly, but was too deeply affected to say anything. 
It was what she had feared, but hoped might not be 
true. 

From this time Alice seemed uniformly cheerful. 
This was the trial which she had dreaded, and for which 
she had seemed to receive new life. Aunt Hetty, 
who had been very lonely, said it was worth while to 
stay a little longer, if only for the pleasure of hearing 
her sweet voice, while Deacon Hayford and his 
wife had been almost inconsolable on account of her 
absence. 

Mrs. Howard was very lonely, after Fanny and Alice 
left her home, and felt that life at the Cottage would 
be insupportable, but she had recourse to her old rem- 
edy for sadness, namely, employment. She resumed 
her labor of teaching which, in addition to her domestic 
cares, left but few idle moments on her hands. She 
committed to Anna almost the entire care of Lillie 
besides the charge of many of Lucy's lessons. Mrs. 
Walton proposed that Henry should spend the nights 
at the Cottage for company and protection. Mrs. 
Howard was very grateful for this favor, and the lad 
was so sensible and intelligent, so entertaining to the 
children, that their evenings were anticipated with 
great pleasure. After the younger children had re- 
tired, he would read aloud to Mrs. Howard and Anna 
who was allowed to remain an hour later than the 
others, and so the. time passed less wearily than she 
feared. 


322 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Letters came often from her sister who had so 
many questions to ask, and so much to relate about 
her new life, that it was next to having her at Glen 
Cottage. In her first letter her sister wrote : — 

Dear Paulina, — After spending a week with our mother 
and Thomas, we came to our own home. How strange it sounds 
to say our home.” The goods sent to brother Thomas had all 
found appropriate places in the cottage which we have named 
the Alcove from two large elms at either end forming an arch 
over the roof. Brother and sister had anticipated us and “ set 
up the young couple in house-keeping,” a^s they said, so when we 
arrived there was nothing for us to do but admire our pretty 
little home. I wished something had been left out of place, 
that I might have the opportunity of doing a little of the man- 
agement myself. Even our supper had been prepared for us, 
and Kate comes every day to see that we are not in danger of 
starving. 

Love in a cottage is very delightful in spite of the mishaps 
that sometimes occur. Paulina, there is one accomplishment, 
for such I deem it, which I do desire, and that is to prepare Clive’s 
linen, for if there is one thing I wish more than another in 
domestic life, it is to have my husband dress neatly. You know 
I have had no experience in preparing men’s linen for use, and 
my first attempts were complete failures. After shedding many 
tears, I succeeded in scorching Clive’s linen so that it was fit 
only for the soiled linen basket, but he insisted on wearing it, 
though he buttoned tight his vest on a sultry July day, on the 
pretence of its being cold*. 

Clive’s school has commenced, and after spending a week at 
home, his absence makes me lonesome. I watch at the gate for 
him and when he arrives we go to the yard together and some- 
times, when no one is in sight, he carries me into the house. 

I miss the dear friends at Glen Cottage and wish I could join 


THE BRIDAL 


323 


in your evening amusements, and sometimes I tease Clive to. a 
game of romp, but I tell him he is like Sir Mastiff playing kitten. 

We always remember all the beloved friends in our devotions. 

Your affectionate 

Birdie. 

When Paul was with Alice, her calm trust in her 
Heavenly Father, her modesty and piety, her active 
benevolence, led him to renounce any skeptical views 
he might have entertained. The purity and unselfish 
motives that prompted her Christian efforts won his 
esteem, and the more he saw of her self-denials, the 
stronger became his desire for usefulness. 

Alice renewed her appeals to his conscience with 
greater power than ever, as her influence was becom- 
ing greater every day. She noticed this and felt that 
she ought to use her power to win a gifted mind to 
yield to the truth. 

“ Alice,'^ said he, ** I never understood how useless 
has been my life, until I saw you, and if ever I do any 
good in the world I shall owe it to your heavenly 
influence.’’ 

‘‘Do not give the honor to me, Paul, but to our 
Divine Master. If I have been the humble instru- 
ment of assisting you, I am truly grateful.” 

“You have, I hope, made me a better man, and 
you could make me the happiest one.” 

Alice wns thoughtful, and after a silence of some 
minutes, said : — 

“ Paul, my friendship has strengthened as we have 


324 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


become better acquainted, but would only a sisterly 
love satisfy you ? And would you accept an engage- 
ment under these circumstances, if I have nothing 
more to offer?” 

“ Yes, decidedly.” 

“ Bqt, Paul, I do not expect to live long.” 

‘'-Should you not, it would add to my happiness if 
I could call you mine only for a brief time. But you 
will not die soon, Alice. My heart tells me so. I 
cannot be separated from you,” said Paul impetu- 
ously. “ I am to leave you soon,” he resumed, after 
walking across the room several times in great agita- 
tion. “ O Alice, why will you not grant this favor to 
one who loves you so devotedly ? ” 

“ Paul, I have kept a secret from you I never 
intended to reveal, and which has influenced my 
decision. I once loved another.” 

“ And do you still love him ? ” 

“ Only as a true and life-long friend.” 

** Then I will take a second place in your heart, if 
you will grant it to me.” 

“ Think of it longer, and when we meet again, you 
shall have a decisive answer, unless you change your 
mind,” said Alice. 

Crawford was forced to accept the proposition, 
though he was sure there would be no change in his 
opinion. In the afternoon, he left by stage for his 
father’s home which he had not visited since he 
returned from Europe. 


THE BRIDAL. 


325 


From what Alice said, he was confirmed in the sus- 
picions that had been awakened in his mind, when 
he first saw Alice and Clive meet, and was more con- 
fident of success, now that her first love was lost for- 
ever, while his regard for her increased for the noble 
spirit with which she had borne her disappointment. 

Alice continued comfortable for some weeks, but as 
the autumn advanced she became weaker and had a 
slight cough. The Doctor watched these symptoms 
with anxiety, the usual remedies were applied 
but failed, and new ones were used with the same 
result. She was perfectly aware of her condition, 
but was calm, and even happy. She had contem- 
plated death as inevitable, and quietly awaited its 
approach. Her friends became alarmed, but she 
tried to prepare them for the worst. Mrs. Howard 
was greatly afflicted at the prospect of losing so dear 
a friend, and visited her as often as she could leave 
her own family. The Doctor, to whom she seemed as 
his own child, spared no pains or expense to save her 
from death. 

Though Alice grew weaker each day, yet to one 
unaccustomed to her disease, with the hectic on her 
cheeks, and the lustre in her eyes, she seemed in 
health, and some who called to see her thought she 
would recover. She took so little nourishment it 
was surprising what sustained her. 

‘‘ Can’t you take a little more nourishment, my 
dear } ” often inquired Mrs. Clive. 


326 


SOlVING AND WAITING. 


“I would, Aunt Hattie, if I could, as you are so 
kind and take so much pains to prepare it. I wish I 
could please you.” 

Hannah, who believed Alice would recover if she 
would eat, tried her skill in preparing every delicacy 
she heard of. 

‘‘Now, darling, do eat this, it will do you good.” 
It grieved Alice to refuse, as Hannah looked so dis- 
appointed. 

Her mental powers never seemed so clear and dis- 
criminating, as when disease was wasting her physical 
strength. 

She manifested an eager interest in all that per- 
tained to her friends, and still administered to her 
patients, by the aid of others. She would send mes- 
sages, flowers, and other gifts by any one who would 
undertake the mission, and enjoined upon her aunt 
to continue the work after her death, for which she 
tried to prepare herself, and she seemed to be at rest. 
When questioned in regard to Paul Crawford she 
replied, “ I believe his devotion is sincere, and I would 
Accept it if I could conscientiously, but it is im- 
possible to regard him as I did Clive ; besides, the 
pain of our separation would be more severe were we 
engaged.” 

Alice was confined to the house for several days, 
but contrary to the fears of the Doctor, she escaped 
the dreaded attack. Crawford was assiduous in his 
attentions, and, as soon as she was able to ride, took 


THE BRIDAL, 


327 


her out every day. He declined the hospitalities of 
the Doctor, and boarded at the hotel, though after 
Alice was removed to her home he spent most of his 
time with her. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


LAND OF BEULAH. 

“ Higher, far upward, into the pure realm, 

Over sun and star, thou must mount for love.” 

The summer passed, and Alice appeared so much 
improved that her friends hoped she would regain her 
usual health. She received frequent letters from 
Clive and Fanny, cheerful and amusing, especially 
from the latter, when relating some of her house- 
keeping experiences. She wrote : — 

My fingers are bound in rags from cuts and burns, and 
Clive has to eat poor bread quite often, though he says it is very 
good, to please me. The steak is either overdone or nearly 
uncooked, and, O dear, I can never cook an egg just right. I 
am sometimes ready to cry with disappointment, but dear Clive 
is so kind and patient, so ready to excuse my mistakes, that I 
feel the more pity for him. How does Paulina perform her 
domestic duties so easily ? Shall I ever equal her in these 
labors ? Clive insists upon helping me, but sometimes I think 
that both of us together make the task worse. For instance, 
one morning he wished to cook the griddle cakes, and while I 
was arranging the table he neglected them, and when brought to 
the table one side was so burned they could not be eaten. He 
was greatly mortified, but I tenderly smoothed his forehead, when 
he laughed and said he thought he could better teach the 
< Anabasis ’ than fry cakes. O Alice, he is the dearest and best 
husband in the world. We are so happy in our little cottage, we 
want you to come and visit us.” 

(328) 


LAND OF BEULAH. 


329 


Alice had improved so much that she was able to 
call and see her patients in Paul's company. They 
had become disconsolate in her long absence, and 
when they saw her pleasant smile and heard her 
cheerful voice, they were delighted. 

October came with its clear days and cool nights, 
and the green foliage had given place to the beautiful 
variegated hues of the New England autumn. The 
forests presented an array of brilliant tints, — orange, 
yellow, red, scarlet, and all shades of brown mingled 
together. Alice could see the hills she so greatly 
admired from the windows of her room, and often 
spoke of their splendor. 

What a beautiful world," she said, my Heavenly 
Father has made ; how glorious heaven must be." 
Her thoughts dwelt so much upon its celestial scenes 
that they were present to her mind in her dreams. 

When Mrs. Howard came to her room one day, she 
inquired of her, “ Do you believe in dreams } " 

Mrs. Howard replied, There may be some signifi- 
cance in them ; sometimes, at least, they make impres- 
sions upon the mind, leading to important results." 

I had a delightful dream or vision one night," 
said Alice, and it has been in my thoughts ever 
since. It was about heaven, and if the celestial 
abode is equal to my dream, I long to be there." 

Can you relate it " 

My imperfect language is inadequate to convey 
a just idea of the scenes, but I will try to describe 


330 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


them. I was in a strange place, where the beings 
and objects were unfamiliar, and the emotions and 
thoughts of which I was conscious were new and 
delightful beyond any ever known before. There was 
such a freedom from all suffering, such a sense of 
immortal vigor, such inexpressible happiness, such a 
feeling of completeness in everything, that I cannot de- 
scribe it. While lost in amazement, an angel came to 
me saying he was my guardian, appointed at my birth 
to watch over me, and finally conduct me to the land of 
the Blessed. I have an instinctive consciousness that 
he comprehended me at once, and had ministered to 
my earthly comfort, and that he was to be my instruc- 
tor in the future. My spirit, though it had left the 
body, still lingered on earth, to study for a time the 
wonders and beauties of our earthly habitation. I 
was endowed with such remarkable powers of motion, 
that I could pass from one part of our globe to another 
very quickly ; besides, I possessed new senses that 
enabled me to perceive the latent properties of matter, 
when my guide explained to me what was too difficult 
for me to understand, both of the wonders of nature 
and the mysteries of my own life. During our prog- 
ress over this planet we saw other spirits with their 
guides, some about leaving their earthly homes. When 
I inquired why the saints did not immediately enter 
heaven after death, my guide replied that some prepara- 
tion of the mental powers was needed before they could 
appreciate the glories of the heavenly world. I then 


LAND OF BEULAH. 


331 


inquired whether the saints ever returned to the earth 
after leaving it. He replied, ‘ They sometimes return 
to the friends they have left/ ‘ Heaven,* said the 
guide, ‘ is a place remote from earth, and in our pro- 
gress thither, we shall have a view of innumerable 
worlds, an investigation of which will form a part of 
your future studies. The abode of the righteous con- 
stitutes the centre of all other systems ; it is of vast 
magnitude and combines the glories of all others.* 
‘‘As I listened to his descriptions,** said Alice, “I 
felt a desire to enter, when my wish was gratified by 
my angelic guide. As we reached the celestial abode, 
we were welcomed by myriads of holy beings, some 
of them seen for the first time, others recognized as 
acquaintances on earth, and among the latter was 
the spirit of my dear mother, the first to greet 
my coming. How surpassingly beautiful the saints 
appeared. There were no signs of weariness or suf- 
fering, but all possessed immortal vigor. Though 
different in mind and appearance, there was perfect 
harmony. All were governed by the same law, that 
of perfect love. There were also diversities of tastes 
and the means of gratifying them were infinite. With 
this heavenly company, and above them all in glory, 
was the Redeemer, and towards Him all eyes were 
directed, and before Him all bowed. Angels and 
archangels, cherubim and seraphim, with all other 
orders of celestial beings, joined in celebrating the 
praises of the Lamb slain. The scenery of heaven 


332 


SOWING AND WAITING, 


was infinitely diversified, so that the inhabitants 
found new subjects of study constantly. There were 
scenes of the grand and sublime, beautiful flowers of 
fadeless beauty and delicious fragrance, the river of 
life proceeding from the throne of God and the Lamb, 
on whose banks grew stately trees, with leaves pos- 
sessing medicinal qualities. None were idle ; all were 
employed differently, according to their capacities 
and inclinations. Some were conversing on the 
mysteries of creation, others on those of redemption, 
while some of the older saints were instructing infant 
minds that have passed from earth before they felt 
the blight of sin. In the central part of heaven stood 
the celestial city, the New Jerusalem, with its walls 
of precious stones, and gates of pearl, rendering it an 
object of intense interest to all. This remarkable 
city surpassed in beauty and magnificence everything 
the imagination could conceive or language could 
describe. Vast companies of the heavenly host were 
ascending and descending the steps to the city. 
Others were walking its beautiful streets, some were 
entering its pearly gates, while others were on its 
battlements. 

** My guide conducted me through one of its lofty 
portals, when a scene of inexpressible glory was wit- 
nessed. No language can convey a complete idea of 
its radiant beauty. It streets were paved with bur- 
nished gold ; spacious mansions were fitted with royal 
magnificence for the saints. 


LAJVD OF BEULAH, 


333 


‘*On the Hill of Zion, stood the Temple of Jehovah, 
containing the thrones of God and of the Lamb, and 
towards this Temple all the heavenly host directed 
their steps when the angel sounded the trumpet, 
calling the faithful to join in the praise of Him who 
sits upon the throne and to the Lamb slain. In the 
midst, stood the eternal throne of the Divine Being 
composed of uncreated light, sending streams of liv- 
ing radiance through the universe, while enclosed by 
clouds of inexpressible glory and majesty was the 
Supreme, Infinite, Incorporeal Father of all. 

“ The Son, allied both to God and man by his two- 
fold nature, was the Medium of communication be- 
tween the Creator and his creatures. His mien was 
majestic and condescending. His countenance ex- 
pressed ineffable love. His eyes were softened by 
tenderness, while among that vast assembly. He was 
peerless. 

‘‘ Every eye was directed towards the throne, wait- 
ing the signal for universal homage to be paid, when it 
became enveloped in a cloud of glory too radiant for 
the sight of mortals, and the angelic host covered 
their faces with their wings and all the saints fell 
prostrate and cast their golden crowns at the feet of 
Him who had redeemed them by His blood, joining 
in ascription of praise to God ; and so great was the 
multitude of heavenly worshippers, that their voices 
were like the roar of the sea and the peal of thunder. 

*‘The act of worship finished, one of the angelic 


334 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


band took the lyre and led the company in song, 
when all joined with harp and voice in celebrating 
the praise of God and the Lamb, until all heaven was 
filled with divine harmony. 

‘‘ My heart,'’ said Alice, ‘‘ beat with rapture when I 
asked my guide whether I might join in the song. 
He replied, ‘Not yet ; you must return to the earth for 
a short time, but soon you will be admitted to remain 
forever.’ With the heavenly music still sounding, 
and my inexpressible joy still felt, I awoke to a con- 
sciousness of my presence here, but I feel assured I 
shall soon join the company of the redeemed, which 
I long to do.” 

“Your dream, Alice, was very remarkable and 
delightful,’’ said Mrs. Howard. “It is not often per- 
mitted to mortal beings to have such glimpses of the 
heavenly world, even in dreams.” 

“I can account for my vision,” said Alice, “par- 
tially, at least. I had been thinking of the subject 
until my ideal heaven became real, and I dreamed 
much as my imagination had pictured it.” 

Mrs. Howard and Alice cherished similar views, 
and had frequent interesting conversations on the 
subject, by which they had their faith strengthened, 
one to “tread the verge of Jordan,” the other to bear 
the burdens of life with Christian resignation until 
her summons should come to cross to the other shore. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


THE TRANSLATION. 

“ In that great cloister’s stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led.” 

It was the Doctor’s opinion that Alice would not 
live through the month, and thought Clive should be 
informed of his belief. Mrs. Howard wrote to him 
and to Crawford about the Doctor’s judgment. The 
result was that Paul came the next day, and Clive, 
with Fanny, a few days after. Alice, not knowing 
that letters had been sent, was surprised to see her 
friends, but was pleased, as she had not expected to 
see them again on earth. She had made known her 
feelings and wishes to Mrs. Howard in regard to her 
affairs, even her relations with Paul, and had sought 
the advice of her friend in regard to the subject. He 
believed that she would recover, but she did not know 
how he would feel now that he must give up all hope. 
At her request, Mrs. Howard asked Paul if he desired 
to see her alone. The reply was decidedly, “ Yes.” 

Alice was sitting at a window, looking much as 
she did a few weeks before, though too weak to rise. 
Paul was agitated on meeting her, but her calmness 
restored his composure. He believed for the moment 
that she might recover, but it was only for a short 
( 335 ) 


336 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


time, as he took her hand which she extended to him. 
His hope fled and he could not speak, when he saw 
her hand, so thin and colorless. 

Alice was the first to break the silence. She said, 
** You remember what was said at our last interview, 
Paul.?” 

“ Perfectly ; how could I forget it .? ” 

‘You have had time to think of it.” 

“ Yes, my mind is unchanged,” replied Paul. 

“ Is it the same in the prospect of my immediate 
death.?” 

“ I again renew my earnest request, that you will 
accept my offer though we may be united only for a 
brief period. It will be a solace when you are gone, 
to feel that I could call you mine if only for one day.” 

Alice was greatly affected and her tears fell fast, 
but after a moment’s pause she extended her hand 
saying that she would love him with all the devotion 
of which she was capable, but she felt it was too 
small for such constancy as his. This was the hap- 
piest and the saddest day of Paul Crawford’s life. He 
had come into possession of what he most desired, 
only to have his treasure suddenly snatched away. Tt 
was to him one of the most mysterious events of 
Divine Providence, which greatly tried his faith, but 
to the Infinite One it was the important link in the 
chain of events that would lead him to a self-denying, 
useful life in the future. 

As soon as Clive and Fanny arrived, the latter went 


THE TRANSLATION. 


337 


to Alice directly and fell into her arms weeping, while 
Clive stood by in silent grief. 

'‘Come here, Clive,'’ said Alice, joining his hand to 
Fanny’s. “ Receive my last wish for your happiness, 
my dear friends.” 

" O Alice, how can we part with you ? ” said Clive. 
“You have always been a dear friend to me, but I 
never prized you so highly as now when you are about 
to leave us.” 

“ I shall not be lost to you,” said Alice, smiling. 
“Perhaps I can serve you better there,” pointing 
upwards. “ Will you move me to my favorite window, 
Paul ? I want to take one more view of earth' before 
I depart.” 

He raised her in his arms and placed her in a chair 
near the window overlooking the garden and com- 
manding the hills beyond. She gazed at the scene 
for some time intently as if she knew it was her last 
view of earth. There were some late flowers in 
bloom, and as she saw them she said : — 

“ Paul, will you select a bouquet as my last gift to 
Aunt Hetty ? ” Then raising her eyes to the hills in 
the brightness of an autumnal New England day, 
said, “ This is very lovely ; I could remain here many 
years if it was my Heavenly Father’s will, as I have 
much to live for; but I am willing to go when He 
calls me. Clive, I have one request to make, and 
that is, to go for Mrs. Howard, as I desire to have her 
with me.” 


338 


SOIV/NG AND WAITING. 


I will go directly,” for he saw that her departure 
was near. 

It was the instinctive longing of her mind to have 
her dearest friend, upon whom she had relied, near in 
her last moments. 

Mrs. Howard soon came, and found Alice sinking, 
though her mind was clear. 

‘‘I am so glad to see you. You will remain with 
me, will you not } ” 

“ Certainly, as long as you need me.”. 

I wish to see Paul once more.” 

When he came she said, ‘‘ Paul, will you resume 
my work, and carry it on } ” meaning that of visiting 
and assisting the sick and afflicted. 

‘‘Yes, my dear Alice, in my poor way, I promise, 
heaven being my witness.” Their hands were clasped 
in a last embrace, and he left her presence a different 
man. 

Henceforth he seemed to live in a different world. 

All the friends left the room except Mrs. Howard, 
that the invalid might rest, when she fell into a gentle 
slumber while her friend supported her head. After 
an interval of half an hour, she awoke and said : — 

“It was so beautiful.” 

“ What, my dear V' 

“ My dream. Let me rest my head on your bosom ; 
it is so comforting.” 

hi a few moments her countenance shone with 
unearthly delight, and joining her hands, she looked 


THE TRANSLATION, 


339 


up with a smile of recognition. Mother,’* she whis- 
pered, and her spirit was released. 

She had selected her place of burial, in a quiet spot 
shaded by the branches of an elm, her favorite place 
of resort. None knew her but to love, and her early 
loss was mourned by all her acquaintances, while 
there was one who bore his grief through his whole 
life — Paul Crawford. 

After her burial, Mrs. Howard told Clive and Fanny 
the secret Alice had confided to her, which both sur- 
prised and distressed them. Her patient suffering and 
generous spirit awakened their love and sympathy, and 
they never spoke of her but with peculiar tenderness. 

‘‘ O Clive,” said Fanny, “ that I should have been 
the cause of her sorrow. I never suspected it.” 

No, Birdie, it was no fault of yours. Had I known 
the strength and character of her love before I saw 
you, our destiny might have been very different, but 
an overruling Providence ordered it otherwise. Had 
Alice lived, she might have been the happy compan- 
ion of Paul Crawford who was devotedly attached to 
her.” 

** O my dear, do not speak lightly of her sorrow,” 
said Fanny. 

‘‘You misunderstood me,” replied Clive. “I could 
never speak irreverently of one for whom I cherished 
so sincere an affection, as a brother for a sister. It 
was her nature to love, and Paul is capable of awak- 
ening such an emotion.” 


340 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


“ We now see why she refused his offer, which she 
could not accept until she had brought her mind to 
relinquish her first love,” said Fanny. 

“How I pity Crawford. How would you have felt 
had you been in his place ” remarked Fanny. 

“ There is no occasion for anxiety. You are not 
going to leave me, I trust ? ” said Clive, thinking it 
best to drop the subject. 

The death of Alice decided Paul’s future career, 
and he at once began to prepare himself for his work. 
Having once decided upon a question, no argument 
or persuasion could turn him from his purpose. He 
entered a theological seminary with the view of pre- 
paring for the ministry, a plan which his father op- 
posed, but his mother approved. The father preferred 
to have his son seek some other profession, or even 
some secular business, and he would give him every 
advantage in his power, but Paul was inflexible, and 
the wealthy capitalist was compelled to allow his son 
to enter a field of labor that in his estimation offered 
no facilities for acquiring wealth or fame. 

Paul Crawford devoted himself assiduously to his 
calling, and during his preparatory studies spent his 
leisure time in seeking objects of charity for the pur- 
pose of relieving them, a work his fastidious tastes 
would once have led him to avoid. 

During the remainder of his life, he was accustomed 
to visit the grave of Alice and renew his promise 
made to her. After due preparation he entered upo:'i 


THE TRANSLAT/ON. 


341 


his sacred calling, and his talents and agreeable man- 
ners soon gained for him general admiration. Popular 
churches endeavored to secure his services, but he 
refused all such invitations and devoted his time and 
energies to the poor and neglected wherever they 
might be found. His father died soon after he 
finished his studies, when he came into possession of 
great wealth, so he could devote his time wholly to 
benevolent work. He selected, as his field of labor, 
the vicinity of a large city, as more destitute persons 
are found in such localities than in country places, 
but he never forgot the beneficiaries of Alice as long 
as they needed assistance. He felt special interest 
in Mrs. Howard’s family, because Alice had loved 
them so ardently, and he manifested his regard in 
various delicate ways, sometimes in the form of valu- 
able presents, '‘ for the sake of a mutual friend gone 
hence,” as he expressed it, and in later years by solic- 
iting the privilege of assuming the expense of Lillie’s 
education. He remained the devoted friend of Clive 
and Fanny, whose modest dwelling was always ready 
to welcome him whose friendship they highly prized. 
Paul never married, but he found a solace for his 
lonely hours in the lovely children who were the 
delight of Glen Cottage. 

Did Alice ever know what a blessing her pure 
character and early death had been to the world } 
Perhaps she did ; and if so, she no doubt rejoiced that 
her short life had not been in vain. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


CHANGES. 

“ And love; earth’s love; and can we love 
Fixedly when all things move ? ” 

It was late in autumn, and Mrs. Howard was look- 
ing forward to a long and lonesome winter. Fanny's 
absence and the death of Alice left her quite alone 
with her little family, and besides, the demands upon 
her strength and sympathy for the last two years had 
impaired her health and depressed her spirits. A 
change of scene became indispensable, but she could 
not see how it could be effected with all her family 
responsibilities. In a few days the question was 
settled for her quite unexpectedly. Crawford arrived 
directly from Clermont, bearing a message from Clive 
and Fanny, asking that Anna might come and spend 
the winter with them. The next day her brother 
Thomas came on business about her affairs, and with 
his practical mind suggested what ought to be done. 

‘‘Paulina," said he in his abrupt manner, “you 
mustn’t stay here alone through the winter. Pack 
your trunks, and go home with me." 

At first she did not see how it could be done. She 
had not only her own children to care for, but there 
(342) 


CHANGES. 


343 


was Lucy Clive, whose father expected her education 
to continue under her direction. 

“ I will manage that,’* said her brother. I ’m 
going to the village and will call upon the Doctor.” 

Nothing was said in opposition, as it was useless 
when Mr. Sherwood decided on a course of action, 
therefore his team drove up to the door in a few 
minutes. ** Come, Paulina, put on your bonnet and 
ride to the village with me, for I want you present 
at our consultation that you may not complain 
afterwards.” 

“ Brother, I always was obliged to yield to you, and 
I see you intend I shall continue to do so, but you 
have been so kind a brother, I yield cheerfully.” 

That shows your good sense,” he replied, raising 
Willie in his arms. ‘‘Here’s a young man who’s* 
got some of his uncle’s grit, if I ’m not mistaken ; 
guess you ’ll have to yield to him one of these days, 
or you ’ll have some battles.” 

Dr. Clive agreed with Mr. Sherwood about Mrs. 
Howard’s need of rest and change, and gave his pro- 
fessional advice about it. He then proposed a plan 
he had arranged, which was that Mrs. Howard should 
leave the Cottage and come to the village to live. 
He had a pretty little tenement near his own resi- 
dence, which would be just what she needed, and 
there were several families in the village who would 
be pleased to place their children under her instruc- 
tion. The Doctor would like to have Lucy at home 


344 


SOWING AND WAITING. 




a few months, to become acquainted with her new 
mother. 

Mr. Sherwood approved of this plan, unless his 
sister wished to remain with him ; but she decided to 
go home with him and spend the winter, then in the 
spring try the Doctor’s arrangement. Anna would 
go to Clermont in company with Mr. Crawford, while 
her mother would take the two younger children \ 

with her. 

In the course of a week, with the assistance of 
some of the neighbors, everything was arranged, and 
the Howards left Glen Cottage, never to return as a 
family. Mrs. Howard had passed many happy and 
some sorrowful days under its roof, and the place had 
become sacred to her from its associations. Here 
she had loved and suffered, and she could not leave it 
without tearful regret. 

After several years it became the home of the eldest 
child, when she again visited her favorite resorts, 
but under quite different circumstances. Anna was 
pleased with the idea of going to see “ Aunt Fanny,” 
but when the time for separation came, it was more , 

difficult to part with her friends than she supposed. I 

The next day after she went, Mrs. Howard, with her 
younger children, left Glen Cottage with her brother. 

The Waltons had come to bid her good-bye, the two 
families having lived several years on intimate terms ; 
both regretted a separation. Arthur was almost 
inconsolable, as he had ^spent many pleasant days at ' 


/ 


CHANGES. 


345 


the Cottage with the children, both at their lessons 
and in their sports. 

Anna was a little homesick during the first week 
of her visit, but Clive and Fanny exerted themselves 
to please her, when she became reconciled. For the 
first time, she attended school and was the youngest 
of Mr. Layton’s pupils, and soon became a favorite 
with the others, yet she was so modest and uncon- 
scious of her abilities, that she was never envied by 
the other scholars. Fanny soon learned her capacity 
of becoming a valuable help in her domestic cares, 
as her experience in her mother’s household duties 
enabled her to render great assistance to her aunt. 
Her quiet, well-bred manners pleased her Uncle 
Thomas Sherwood so well, that she was always wel- 
come to his office, however busy he might be, for she 
never disturbed him. She always behaved with so 
much propriety at table, in the parlor, and in the 
presence of company, that he frequently mentioned 
her as an example to his own children. 

Anna is a girl,” said Charles, a boy twelve years 
old. “If I made no more noise than she does the 
fellows would call me a ‘ girl-boy,’ ” and he turned 
scornfully on his heels at the idea of being like a 
girl. 

Anna had been taught to write, therefore she corre- 
sponded with her mother quite frequently. After 
three weeks’ absence she sent her first letter : — 


346 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


My dear Mamma, — I am happy now at Aunt Fanny’s. I 
used to cry after I went to bed, because I wanted to see you and 
kiss you, Lillie, and little brother. I did n’t like to go to school 
at first. I was afraid of the large boys and girls, but they are 
very kind to me now ; also Uncle Clive and Aunt Fanny are very 
good to me. Oh, we have such nice times after Uncle comes 
home from school. We have games in the evening, and I laugh 
to see him play Blind Man’s Buff.” His arms are so long he 
can reach us, and sometimes he catches Aunt Fanny and calls 
her Anna. When he seizes us he takes us in his arms and 
kisses us. After we get through playing we are all tired, then 
Uncle Clive takes Aunt Fanny on one knee and me on the other^ 
and rocks us, calling us his pets. Sometimes Aunt Fanny sings 
and Uncle Clive plays on his flute, and afterwards he reads to us 
or tebs us stories. 

I should be so happy if you were here, my darling mamma. 
Uncle Thomas and Aunt Celia are very good to me, but cousin 
Charles teases me sometimes. He is n’t like Henry. I like 
cousin Ned better. A hundred kisses for you, Lillie, and Willie. 
I forgot to tell you Aunty corrected the mistakes. 

A dear good-bye. 


Anna. 


The winter passed quickly and pleasantly, so differ- 
ently from what Mrs. Howard feared. Her mother 
was in feeble health, and Paulina thought it might be 
their last meeting, which proved to be the case. As 
soon as the travelling was suitable, she left for her 
home, intending to visit her friends at Clermont on 
her way, and take Anna with her. She spent a week 
with them, and was much pleased to find the young 
couple so pleasantly and happily settled in their new 
home. She saw Fanny, the child-like maiden and 


CHANGES, 


347 


blooming bride, maturing into the graceful woman, 
presiding with dignity over her own household. 

Paulina, I owe so much to your instruction, 
patience, and example in preparing me for my position, 
that I cannot express my gratitude in words. If I 
succeed in my efforts to make our home pleasant, the 
credit belongs to you.'’ 

“ In seeing you happy it adds to my joy, Birdie, and 
so I receive back more than I gave,” said Mrs. How- 
ard, kissing her. 

‘‘ Clive is so gentle, patient, and appreciative of 
everything I do, I am more than rewarded for all my 
efforts,” said Fanny. 

Mrs. Howard thought of her own happy days, but 
was silent. 

On returning to Jefferson she found a home pre- 
pared for her with everything in order to begin 
housekeeping. This unexpected pleasure she owed 
to the Waltons and Dr. Clive. When she expressed 
her gratitude with deep emotion for such thoughtful 
consideration, the Doctor replied it was all selfishness 
on his part, for he had become tired of looking after 
his ‘‘wild romp,” and longed for her to return and 
relieve him. 

In a few weeks Mrs. Howard was ready to resume 
her duties as teacher. Her change of residence had 
relieved her of many domestic cares, for Lucy lived at 
her own home and came only as a day scholar. Mrs. 
Howard had more applicants for pupils than she 


348 


SOIVIATG AND V/AITING, 


could accommodate. She intended to keep her class 
small at first and then increase it if she found her 
plan successful. Her method of teaching was quite 
different from that generally pursued at that time, and 
was somewhat similar to that of Mr. Layton’s, and 
was successful in gaining the attention of the pupils 
and the approval of the parents. She taught less 
from books and more from nature, though she did 
not go to the extreme of discarding books altogether, 
but combined the two methods. • Under her leader- 
ship the pupils advanced surely if not so rapidly. 
Her first aim was to lay a good foundation for char- 
acter, hence moral instruction was always blended 
with intellectual, yet her pupils never felt they were 
being disciplined in morals. 

In the early training of children, she believed the 
pupil should be brought into communication with 
nature as much as possible. This had been her 
method with her own children, and she believed it 
could be adopted with others, at least with a limited 
number. Mrs. Howard possessed good facilities for 
bringing the minds of her pupils in contact with the 
world of matter. There were objects all about them, 
from which profitable lessons might be learned, while 
Dr. Clive offered her the use of his cabinet of foreign 
and native specimens, as well as his library. Mr. 
Goodell, whose little daughter Grace became one of 
her pupils, made the same offer. 

Anna thought Willie was old enough to begin to 


CHANGES, 


349 


read, and, unless he was soon taught, he would become 
a dunce, therefore she undertook to teach him his 
letters, but the poor teacher was sorely troubled by 
his boyish ways. He was far more interested in a 
whip, a spade, or a hammer and nails, than in the 
mysterious little curves and angles, called letters. 

“Now, Willie, what is that?” said Anna as she 
pointed to the first letter of the alphabet. Astride 
a stick, with whip in hand, he looked at the letter 
which had been told him a dozen times, with one eye, 
then with the other, and bringing his head closer to 
the book, he examined it with both eyes, but was non- 
committal. 

“ What is it ? ” inquired his teacher. Willie looked 
very wise, but did not choose to tell. 

“ Say A,” urged his instructor. 

“ Say A,” was the reply, and her pupil galloped off 
on his hobby-horse. 

Anna, ready to cry with vexation, stood waiting to 
make another attempt when he had performed his 
journey around the room. 

“ What is the letter, Willie ? ” 

The little fellow was greatly perplexed, for he had 
forgotten the lesson repeated a dozen times or more. 
Still his sister urged him to give an answer, as Willie’s 
horse became restive and needed curbing, when he 
became obstinate and the whip must be used. 

“ Willie, why don’t you tell ? ” 

The horse reared and plunged, when both horse and 


350 


SOLVING AND WAITING, 


rider were cornered; and finding no way of escape, the 
child told his persistent teacher the letter was O. A 
similar experience Anna's young kitten had once given 
her when she was instructing it in the mysteries of 
the alphabet. 

Mrs. Howard found that the management of Willie 
was far more difficult than that of her daughters. He 
was more restless and unyielding, more persistent in 
having his own way. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


A NEW EXPERIENCE. 

“ A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure, 

A messenger of peace and Ibve.” 

One morning Lucy came running in breathless 
haste to Mrs. Howard’s, saying, ^‘Anna, I’ve got a 
little brother. Hannah showed me a tiny baby 
wrapped in a blanket, and said it was my brother. 
He isn’t so large as Willie, but Hannah says he will 
be, one of these days,” and the child danced about 
the room in great joy. 

‘‘ I ’ve got a new cousin,” said Lillie. 

Oh, you have n’t either.” 

‘‘ Yes, she has,” said Anna. Mamma had a letter 
from Uncle Clive, and Aunt Fanny has a little girl 
baby, and it is our cousin.” 

Pooh ! your cousin is only a girl, and I have got 
a boy brother,” said Lucy contemptuously. 

‘‘ Did you ever hear of a girl brother ? ” inquired 
Anna, piqued at the slight upon her new cousin. 

‘‘ I don’t care ; they call Jinimy Carter a girl-boy 
because he plays so much with girls. My brother is 
a real boy,” and off she darted to proclaim the news 
to all her village mates. 

A few weeks after the news from Clive and Fanny, 
the latter wrote to her sister as follows : — 

(350 


352 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


My dear Paulina, — My heart is so full of tumultuous joy, 
I cannot find words to express it. As I write, beside me is my 
precious babe asleep, with her tiny fingers closed and the long 
lashes shading her soft eyes, with her little mouth ready to be 
kissed. 

Sister, I never dreamed that the little, unconscious stranger 
would unseal such a fountain of maternal love in my heart I 
thought before, I could never love another as I loved my hus- 
band, but I find this little babe has awakened a new and different 
feeling, while instead of weakening my love for Clive, it has 
strengthened it. 

When he comes home, if baby is asleep, we go and stand by 
her cradle and watch her slumbers. We want her in our sight 
all the time, and constantly fear lest some harm should befall her. 
Do all young parents feel thus, or is our baby more to us than 
others are to their parents ? We have named her Alice Brad- 
ford. Clive wrote to Paul to know whether it would be agreeable 
to him to have her called for the dear departed one, and he 
returned answer that it would be pleasing to him. Clive says he 
hopes baby will resemble her mother, while I wish she may be 
like her father. 

Excuse me for writing so much about ourselves, but our hearts 
are too full of a new joy and love to keep silence. We thank 
our Heavenly Father for this precious gift and seek His guidance 
in performing our parental duties faithfully. Clive has given her 
the pet name of Rose Bud.” 1 try to recall your methods of 
managing children but feel that I know nothing about it. Do 
advise me, dear Paulina, about my new duties, as you have in so 
many others. 

Your loving Fanny. 

The change in Paul Crawford’s life surprised his 
acquaintances, who were ig ;v>ra:»t of the nu^c.s that 
led to it, and some of his gay companions treated his 


A NEW EXPERIENCE, 


353 


plan of studying for the ministry with ridicule, and 
considered his talents had been buried. He had been 
very popular among his classmates. His easy and 
genial manners and indiscriminate generosity made 
him a universal favorite, therefore they were not well 
pleased with the idea of losing one of their “boon 
companions.*' But neither the fear of ridicule nor 
the scorn or neglect of his acquaintances could divert 
him from his purpose. Soon after leaving the Semb 
nary he selected a beautiful suburban home, where his 
mother, a pious and refined lady, presided over his 
house, while he devoted himself to benevolent work 
among the poor and neglected classes. His fortune 
and taste were exhibited in the elegance and comfort 
of his home, while his attractive and hospitable man- 
ners won a large circle of friends, but he never allowed 
the advantages of his social position to interfere with 
his professional duties. 

Often when surrounded by genial friends engaged 
in entertaining conversation, he would ask to be 
excused that he might call upon some poor invalid, 
look after the tempted youth, or visit some prisoner's 
cell. He had overcome his natural aversion to being 
brought in contact with squalor and crime, and was 
in sympathy as well as in act the friend of the de- 
spised outcast. He conscientiously kept his solemn 
pledge made to his lost friend. 

As Lillie grew older, she exhibited traits of charac- 
ter quite unlike those of her sister. Anna had always 


354 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


rendered unquestioning obedience to her mother, and 
whatever she required of her child, Anna thought 
was right, but Lillie was disposed to require a reason 
for certain things expected of her, especially if repug- 
nant to her feelings or opposed to her will. 

‘ Why must I do it, mother she would say, and 
then argue the question with great pertinacity. 

“ Mamma, must I always obey you if I don't want 
to } " she inquired on one occasion, when she was not 
more than four years old. 

‘‘Certainly you must." 

“ You do not mind me, mamma." 

“Our Heavenly Father said that children should 
obey their parents, but did not say that parents 
should mind their children. You are my child, and 
should love and obey me. Don't you love me, Lillie " 
This was one of Mrs. Howard’s strongest arguments, 
an appeal to the child's affection for her, which was 
very ardent. 

“Yes, mamma," throwing her arms about her 
mother's neck and fondly caressing her, “ but I should 
like to do as I want to, sometimes." 

“ Who do you suppose knows best, Lillie or her 
mother .? " 

“I suppose you do, mamma." 

“ Do you think it right to disobey God } " 

One time Mrs. Howard sent to a neighboring town 
to purchase some goods for Anna's dress, without 
thinking that Lillie would have any feeling about it. 


A NE IV EXPERIENCE, 


355 


While the package was opened and the article much 
admired, Lillie stood by wondering what her mother 
had purchased for her, but when she discovered there 
was nothing for her, she felt deeply grieved and dis- 
appointed. She did not utter a word, but retired to 
her room, and expressed her wounded feelings in 
tears. When the time for supper came she did not 
make her appearance, and when sought for was found 
in great distress. No persuasion could induce her to 
eat, and she retired to rest sobbing herself to sleep. 
She suffered a long time in spite of the efforts of her 
mother to soothe her feelings. Mrs. Howard deeply 
regretted the pain her thoughtless act had caused, 
especially as the child betrayed no feelings of anger 
or envy. 

When Lillie was very young, she manifested a 
decided preference for play, to the neglect of her 
books, but as she grew older her taste for acquiring 
knowledge began to develop. She loved it for its 
own sake, and never seemed so happy as when in its 
pursuit. Her admiration for nature became a strong 
passion, and hours were spent each day in those pur- 
suits which brought her into communion with the 
Creator's works, sometimes with others but often 
alone. The child seemed to live in a world of her 
own, but when the time for study was over she seemed 
the most lively and joyful of all her associates. If 
there was one trait more than another that marked 
her character, it was a love for her little brother. 


356 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


Though he returned her affection as far as his coarser 
and more selfish nature could, yet like most brothers 
he was sometimes wayward and impatient of restraint, 
and unwilling to be guided by the authority or influ- 
ence of others, and Lillie's affection and watchfulness 
sometimes annoyed him, when he would rudely repel 
her. She did not resent it from him as she would 
have done from others, but she felt it keenly. Her 
tears, however, were a restraint, as he could never 
resist these, even when all other influences failed. 
Lillie had been his playmate and confidant from his 
earliest recollection, and to her he went for aid in his 
studies when old enough to attend school, and with 
her assistance and encouragement he attained to a 
respectable position in his class, though not fond of 
books or study. 

Several years had passed since the events recorded 
at the beginning of this story, and Mrs. Howard’s 
family as well as others, had changed. Anna had 
grown to be a young lady ; Lillie was fifteen, and 
Willie had become a robust lad, full of boyish mis- 
chief, and fast developing his masculine tendencies, — 
especially that of asserting his independence. 

Henry Walton had attained to full manhood, and 
developed many noble qualities. His early interest 
in little Anna Howard had become an ardent attach- 
ment, and with the mother’s permission, after a proper 
time, she became the mistress of Glen Cottage, the 
Howard farm having come into possession of Henry 


A NEW EXPERIENCE. 


357 


Walton. His brother John had, a few years before, 
married Matilda Baldwin, and the young couple lived 
with ‘‘father and mother Walton,’’ and Aunt Jenny, 
in the course of time, surrendered her household 
duties to younger hands. 

Arthur had manifested an inclination for study, 
and Dr. Clive, from gratitude to him for saving the 
life of his daughter when they were children, offered 
to pay his expenses at college. 

Arthur and Lucy were again brought into friend- 
ship with each other, and though for a time they 
continued their childish sports and quarrels, a new life 
dawned upon them in a more intimate companionship. 

Mrs. Howard felt it was best to accept her brother’s 
invitation, which had been renewed every year, as 
her mother had passed away, and she was more free 
to accept his hospitalities. Willie required the watch- 
ful care of his uncle and guardian, and Lillie, needing 
better advantages for study, was sent to her Uncle 
Clive’s academy. Lucy had spent a year at a fashion- 
able boarding school, but her father was not satisfied 
with her progress, nor the influences to which she 
had been subjected, therefore he decided to place her 
under the instruction of Mr. Layton. As she was to 
become a member of his family, with Lillie Howard, 
the arrangement was entirely satisfactory to the 
Doctor. 

Mrs. Howard left Jefferson with regret and the 
good wishes of her acquaintances. The separation of 


358 


SOWING AND WAITING. 


her family had been anticipated with sorrow, and now 
that the time had come it was even more trying than 
she expected. 

Perhaps a brief notice of some of the characters of 
the story may be expected. Mr Merill, until age 
compelled him to resign, continued his business, when 
he transferred it to his eldest son, whose reckless 
habits soon squandered a large part of the property 
his father had acquired. 

The McClures managed to struggle on in their 
usual manner, except Curly Jack,” who, at fourteen 
years of age, left his home without his parents* knowl- 
edge, and went to sea, rose to the position of the 
master of a fine ship, and made a fortune in eastern 
trade. The Baldwins, Cutlers, and Whitemans inter- 
married and settled, some in Jefferson, while others 
moved to the West where they became prosperous' 
farmers. The Pages struggled on, but became no 
more prosperous until their children settled, some in 
one place, and some in another, in their native State, 
with the exception of the Marquis ” whose love of 
quarrel and restless spirit found relief, first in the 
village politics, and then in a more extended sphere, 
until he gained a seat in the Legislature of his native 
State ; but not satisfied with so limited a field of labor, 
as soon as California was open to adventurers, he 
went there where he found a suitable arena for his 
talents, and soon rose to considerable eminence as a 
statesman. 


A NEW EXPERIENCE, 


' 359 


Deacon Hayford and wife, and Aunt Hetty followed 
their departed friends, not long after, while Dan 
Woodard, falling into Mr. Merill's hands, was removed 
from one place to another, until he became dissatisfied 
and left town with all his goods and chattels, blind 
horse and all, for regions unknown to the people of 
the town. Marvellous Chapin and his wife Prudy, 
strange to say, did ride “in the railroad,” to Ohio, 
where their son resided, but, as they never returned, 
the people of Jefferson were never entertained with 
an account of that adventure. 

Mrs. Howard, after “ Sowing ” the seeds of a 
healthful training of her interesting family, and 
patiently “Waiting” for the result, was permitted to 
reap a rich harvest by seeing her children following 
her footsteps, and becoming useful members of society. 


THE END. 










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